
























1 



Class ~^ '7 "C 

Rnnk 

CoBiiglitN?_ y! _ 

COFflJlGUT DEPOSrr. 


< f* < 






r 

i 

I 


i 


I 


?Si 

r' 1 



I 



m 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 

How Richard of Devon Served 
Richard the Lion-Hearted 





■' .J 

\ 


• . V/ * 


.»’ 


■■ • * > •'■«** 


I.. 



•I 


I '% 


• j 







■> 


\ 


i> % 






. 



'j i 







“1 








j « 



OUT HIS HAND, AND THE TOUNQ MINSTREL 
KISSED IT.— Page 317. 



THE 

YOUNG CRUSADER 


How Richard of Devon Served 
Richard the Lion-Hearted 


By 

WALTER SCOTT STORY 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

FRANK T. MERRILL 



BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 













Copyright, 1923 
By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 

All Rights Reserved 

The Young Crusader 



I 

i 



Printed in U. S. A. 

’WorwooO I>re00 

BERWICK & SMITH CO. 
Norwood, Mass. 
©C1A711701 




^ >3- z a 




Zb my wife 

MARGARET HELENA STORT 
with admiration^ gratitude^ and love 














ILLUSTRATIONS 


The king stretched out his hand, 
and the young minstrel kissed 
it (Page 31Y) .... Frontisjpiece 

FACING PAGE 

“Damascus steel, Edward” . . 46 

He poured forth the pulse-stirring sword 

song.110 

He flailed through the pressing Orientals 180 

“ Hay! I will not look ” . . . . 222 

“I have heard that song from the castle, 

yon ”.292 


7 




The Young Crusader 


CHAPTER I 

O NE afternoon toward sunset, two 
youths, both beardless and little 
more than boys, astride sleek bay 
horses, rode along the forest road just south 
of Darby, the autumn leaves crinkling under 
the soft thud of the chargers’ hoofs, and, 
emerging into the open, drew rein upon the 
brow of the hill upon which they found them¬ 
selves. 

Below them in a bowl formed by the ter¬ 
raced hills, those near at hand gorgeous in 
Jack Frost’s harlequin robes, those afar off 
blue and hazy in the October sun, the hamlet 
of Darby lay, its thatched-roof houses among 
the oaks, and the fields golden in the after¬ 
noon light. 

The foremost rider, Richard, the son 
of Edward, Baron of Darby, was tall. 


10 THE YOUNa CEUSADER 

straight, and lithe, his waist slender, his 
shoulders and upper body widening and giv¬ 
ing promise of extraordinary strength. His 
face, brown as leather, was handsome, but 
stern and thoughtful for a lad’s; his brown 
eyes, set wide apart, were keen as a falcon’s; 
and his nose was straight. His neat person 
was clad in green, and he wore dagger and 
sword. His cap, also green, was adorned 
with a partridge feather, and was set 
jauntily on his fine head. 

His companion, in brown, was a stout lad, 
very broad, with a wide face and as merry a 
pair of blue eyes as ever shone in the head of 
any one. His nose was flat, and his nostrils 
were visible, like two round holes drilled in 
his face. Peter was Richard’s own attend¬ 
ant, and he was a light-hearted boy, with 
laughter in his heart and in his throat. 
Under his sturdy right leg was his unstrung 
crossbow, while at his belt hung a heavy 
hunting-knife, almost big enough to be 
dubbed a sword—the gift of his master. 
Perhaps in all England, although he was a 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


11 


boy and had no fame, there was no better 
archer than he. There was certainly no¬ 
where in the world anybody who had a more 
loyal heart. He loved the handsome boy of 
gentle birth whom he served, and this love 
was so great that he felt little of the sullen 
uneasiness the lower orders of the people 
were beginning to feel in this year of the 
Lord 1188—the uneasiness that in time made 
all Englishmen free men. 

Richard’s bay, slavering at the mouth, 
shook his head at the restraining rein, the 
drops of foam flying like spray in his im¬ 
patient tossing. 

Richard pointed to the west, beyond the 
village below them, and Peter nodded, for he 
could see the black speck in the far hills the 
other indicated. That black speck was 
home, the massive, moated castle of the 
valley lord. 

“ The horses are tired, Peter,” said the 
young noble, ‘‘ but I think we’ll ride on. 
There’s a moon, and we should be home by 
midnight.” 



12 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


“Is it best? ” queried Peter, earnestly. 
“ There’s been much trouble on the road 
since the king’s tax-men have been out.” 

Richard straightened his lithe body and 
shrugged his shoulders slightly. His hand¬ 
some face set sternly, and his eyes flashed. 

“ My father obeys the orders of the king 
in collecting the taxes,” he responded. “ I 
see little reason for all this excitement. It 
shows a rebellious spirit in the people.” 

Peter wisely made no comment. He re¬ 
alized that he and his superior, however 
friendly they might be as master and man, 
could not see things in the same way. 

“ We had best go on, then, at once,” he 
ventured. 

Richard swept his eye about the glorious 
hills, and, pressing the bay with his knees, 
began to descend the dusty highway toward 
the hamlet, Peter, also looking about, fol¬ 
lowing close behind. 

They came to the foot of the hill and 
passed along through the few little cottages 
along the road. 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


13 


“ There’s some trouble here, sir,” observed 
Peter, his quick eye noting that only a few 
old women and small children were about 
the cottages and stables, 

“ We’ll ask at the next cottage, Peter. I 
had noticed that no men were about.” 

As they rode on, the boy in green sat his 
saddle straighter than before, his shoulders 
thrown back, his head high. This hamlet 
of Darby was in his father’s barony, and 
Richard, although a kind-hearted, generous- 
spirited boy, felt angry at what seemed to be 
a sign of rebellion in the place. 

In this day, the line between the lords and 
their inferiors in rank was clear and tightly 
drawn; in fact, it was not a line, but a gulf 
almost impassable. The ruling classes be¬ 
lieved themselves divinely born to rule their 
tenants and vassals, body and soul. The 
young son of the Baron of Darby, although 
he would have scorned to do a mean act, was 
no exception. It may be difficult to realize, 
but people beneath his station,were to him 
little more than mere things. 


14 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


The next dwelling was at their right—a 
neat whitewashed cottage, set in a few elms 
a hundred feet from the road. Beside the . 
doorway, on the west, sitting on a rude bench 
beneath a window fitted royally with some 
thin skin instead of glass, for glass was found 
only in the palaces of the great and rich, was 
a very old woman basking in the sun and 
chewing on a long wheat straw. Three little 
children were tumbling about in the yard be¬ 
fore her among a number of hens and ducks 
and a lazy, friendly pig. 

The two lads rode in toward the sleepy 
crone. At their approach the pig gave a 
grunt and set off on business about the 
corner of the cottage, and the fowls 
squawked and scattered. The three tiny 
children stood unsteadily on their plump 
legs, and stared with wondering eyes. 

The old woman arose and bowed to Rich¬ 
ard, and, without knowing why she did so, 
began to dust the bench upon which she had 
been sitting. 

“ Where are all the men ? ” asked Richard, 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 15 

smiling at the confusion caused by their com¬ 
ing. 

The old woman smiled up at him, her face 
wrinkling like a dried walnut and her tooth¬ 
less mouth opening wide. 

Richard repeated his question kindly, but 
in a louder voice. 

The old woman smiled still wider and 
nodded, then pointed to the nearest child, a 
little boy of four, dirty-faced, but pretty, 
and just then very sober. 

“ He’s just four an’ a half! ” shrieked the 
crone, probably thinking she was speaking 
softly. She pointed to the other two in suc¬ 
cession, giving their ages and names and be¬ 
ginning to tell their history. 

“ Where are the men? ” bawled Peter, un¬ 
ceremoniously breaking in upon her recital. 

A plmnp, red-cheeked woman of middle 
age came to the cottage doorway even before 
Peter shouted, and she bowed respectfully to 
Richard. 

“ What is it you wish to know, sir? ” she 
asked. 


16 ^HE YOUNG CRUSADER 

“ We wondered where the men are,” re¬ 
turned Richard. 

The woman hesitated a moment, and in 
that moment a peculiar look flashed across 
her face. 

“ A good father from London is speaking 
before the church, sir,” she said, “ telling us 
about the holy war and getting men to go 
rwith our king—whom the saints preserve— 
and the king of France.” 

“ Ah! ” exclaimed Richard, his face shin¬ 
ing. “We must hear him, Peter. Let us 
hurry.” He nodded to the woman in the 
doorway, and swung his bay about. 

When they came into the road, they set 
off at a gallop toward the Darby church and 
market-place. 

The Darby church was a pretty little 
structure of stone —a gift from Richard’s 
own father, for Darby in many troublous 
days had furnished more than its quota of 
good, stout fighting-men—set back from the 
road upon a rise of ground. 

On the rude stone steps, bathed in the sun- 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


17 


shine, stood a tall figure in a long brown 
robe, gesticulating passionately to a scat¬ 
tered group of rough men and striplings, as 
well as many women, gathered in an uneven 
semicircle before him. His voice was sono¬ 
rous and far-carrying, and the riders could 
now and then catch a word. 

Richard, followed by Peter, rode up the 
hill, and, without dismounting, pressed for¬ 
ward toward the church-steps through the 
throng of red-faced, sturdy villagers, who 
welcomed him in silence and glanced at him 
respectfully, without any indication of 
sullenness. 

The priest ceased talking as Richard ap¬ 
proached. He was very tall and straight 
as an arrow. He was tanned black with 
the sun. His face was lean and lined, 
and his eyes glowed with the fire of his pas¬ 
sion. He fixed the boy with his glittering 
eye, and outstretched his hand toward 
him. 

“ Jerusalem,” he cried in his ringing voice, 
“ is still in the hands of the bloody Saracen. 


18 


THE YOUNG CRUSADEE 


The Holy Sepulchre is to-day defiled by the 
infidel. Think you times are better than 
when Peter of Amiens returned from the 
long pilgrimage and waked all Christendom 
with the story of the Holy Place? Two 
gold pieces paid, and you might enter the 
city—and be forced to spit upon the Birth¬ 
place! Are you men of blood? Ten thou¬ 
sand men, twenty times over, have fought in 
the battles of the Lord, and yet to-day, even 
in this day of light and progress, the cursed 
infidel defies you. Would you wash out 
your sins—you, my lord, as well as this rout 
of low-born louts? Then, listen! His Maj¬ 
esty, Richard—whom heaven preserve— 
while he keeps the faith—is calling for you 
all to go to Jerusalem, as your fathers and 
their fathers did, to wrest away our own, and 
to put the Saracens to the sword and blot 
them from the book of life! It is heaven to 
go! It is a holy war. The coward’s head 
and the laggard’s shall rest no more easy. 
In the new year, the king, with the lord of 
France, goes to the third crusade. I tell you 




THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


19 


it shall be the last, for it is given me to see 
that Richard, whose heart is like a lion’s and 
full of zeal, shall win heaven—and destroy 
the hosts of evil.” 

The passionate speaker ceased, and stood 
with hands outstretched, his eyes closed, his 
fierce, lean face set in a rapturous expres¬ 
sion, with the sun red upon it. 

“ What about the taxes? ” cried a rough 
voice, loudly, from the knot of villagers on 
Richard’s left. 

The priest opened his eyes and turned like 
a flash in the direction from which the voice 
came. His eye was keen, but he could not 
make out the speaker. 

“ The money is for the cause of the Holy 
War,” he returned. “ Who would hold 
back? ” In passionate utterance he told of 
the glories of war, of the glory of a war to 
win Jerusalem from the Saracen, and he 
held his hearers spellbound, so that for the 
time they were filled with zeal and forgot 
the oppressive taxes which Richard, the king, 
was gathering to carry on the war. 


20 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


Richard leaned forward over his bay, his 
earnest eyes upon the priest, his lips apart. 
His being glowed with enthusiasm as the 
father told of the atrocities of the infidels 
and the courage of thousands of crusaders 
who had-laid their lives down in the days be¬ 
fore Richard’s reign. 

The priest at length ceased, and, stilling 
the cheers of his entranced hearers, lifted his 
arms and blessed everybody whose heart was 
moved to give body or substance to the 
crusade. 

He descended the steps slowly and ap¬ 
proached Richard, noting the boy’s rapt 
face. The villagers, excitedly talking, 
passed in a body down the hill at once, leav¬ 
ing Richard and Peter alone with the fiery- 
tongued churchman. 

“You are the son of the Baron of Darby,” 
said the priest, looking up with a kindly eye. 
“ I am Father James.” 

“ Yes,” returned Richard. 

“ I remember you well, son. I once visited 
your father when you were a small boy.” 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


21 


“ You will go with me, father,” cried the 
young man, looking down into the brown, 
stern face. “ You shall ride Peter’s horse, 
and Peter will walk. I would hear more— 
oh, more! ” 

Father James smiled in a rather hard way. 

“ I think, my son,” said he, “ I shall go on. 
I have work to do. If I remember rightly, 
your father, the Baron of Darby, was in 
favor with Henry, the father of the king; 
and when Henry, fearful of the barons, 
razed a thousand castles throughout this 
England to break their power, the castle 
yonder where you live was left unscathed.” 

Richard averted his eyes and flushed with 
embarrassment and anger. He knew that 
Henry had caused the assassination of 
Thomas a Becket, the Archbishop of Canter¬ 
bury, and that friends of the deceased king 
were not greatly in favor with the clergy. 

Father James laid a brown hand upon the 
boy’s horse. “ But you shall hear more of 
the Holy War, son,” he said; “ and you shall 
fight the Saracen.” 


22 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


‘‘Please heaven!” ejaculated Richard, 
fervently. 

“ Keep clean,” urged the priest. “ Keep 
clean, son, keep clean from lust and greed, 
and—go!” He blessed the boy solemnly; 
then, turning, he strode away down the hill 
like the strong man he was. 

“ A good man! ” exclaimed Richard. 

“ He is very hot for us to fight,” observed 
Peter dryly, his eyes twinkling. “ He ain’t 
like the people. He don’t have to give the 
king one-tenth of all he’s got or go to the 
war.” 

Richard stared at him sternly, but deigned 
no comment. He turned and started down 
the road, and Peter, laughing quietly, fol¬ 
lowed at a few yards. 

The boys had a hearty but coarse supper 
in the village, then set off homeward through 
the valley. 

Richard rode on through the dusk, silent, 
his handsome face still set in a rapt expres¬ 
sion, and Peter followed, singing to him¬ 
self. 



THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


23 


The road lay winding up hill and down 
hill, through the woods and through the 
open. The stars, sharp and frosty, glittered 
in the sky, and the moon came up clear over 
the rim of the far-off hills and shot the 
valley with light. 

Late in the evening the riders, swinging 
along at a brisk canter, issued from a stretch 
of forest on a hillside, and came into a bit of 
road fringed with rock and bushes. The 
road itself was here very poor, and the boys 
pulled to a walk. 

As they turned a great boulder they saw 
before them another stretch of woods, and, 
upon nearing it, a figure—seemingly 
gigantic—with some long object under its 
arm, burst into view and stood in the middle 
of the road, appearing there as if by magic. 

“ Whoa! ” sounded a great shout. 

The horses drew up snorting, and the 
boys, gasping, stared with open mouths. 
Richard was the first to recover himself. 
His superstitious fear dispelled by the sound 
of a human voice, he whipped out his sword 


I 



24 THE YOUNG CKUSADER 

and held his horse with a firm rein. Peter 
for the moment was like jelly, for he be¬ 
lieved he saw a spirit. When, however, he 
was sure—or almost sure—that the figure 
was human, he deftly drew his bow and 
in a twinkling strung it and notched a 
bolt. 

‘‘ Man or devil! cried Richard, challeng¬ 
ing. 

“ A man, my friend,” came the response; 
“ and ”—a laugh sounded—“ a devil of a 
man at times. Put up your steel, and tell 
that fool to unstring his bow, or I’ll beat his 
life out with my sword belt.” 

Richard rode forward, his sword lowered 
and seeming to drip moonlight. 

“ I’m no tax-collector,” said the stranger, 
“ and no wayside robber—surely, not a 
wayside robber.” He laughed heartily, for 
he was a full-blooded man, loving life and 
very fond of his own jokes and gibes. He 
was a man of about forty-five, tall and 
slender, and yet with a great breadth of 
shoulder. He had a coarse face, an eye like 




THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


25 


a live coal, and he had a scar running from 
the left side of his mouth around his cheek 
to the back of his head, which gave him the 
appearance of being always on a wide, 
twisted grin. He wore sword and dagger, 
and carried himself with the air of a king in 
his palace. 

“ Ah, a nestling! ” he ejaculated, looking 
up as Richard reached his side. He laughed 
heartily at Richard’s stern look. 

“What is your business?” demanded 
Richard, glancing about the hillside and at 
the dark entrance of the forest, fearing am¬ 
bush. 

“ Have no fear,” said the stranger, turn¬ 
ing up his grinning face, clearly discernible 
in the moonlight. 

“I have none!” returned Richard, an¬ 
grily, his fingers tightening about his sword- 
hilt. His blood moved faster, but he told the 
truth. He was never in his life to know fear 
of another man. 

The man laughed in his boisterous way. 
“ I’m lost,” he declared. “ I have come into 


26 


THE YOUNG CEUSAHER 


Devon looking for the Baron of Darby, who 
I have learned sits at home like an old woman 
toasting his toes, and IVe lost my way. Can 
you tell me-” 

“ Ihn his son.” 

“By the Holy Grail! No!" The tall 
man with the scarred face stepped back a 
pace and stared at the young rider. “ Yes,” 
he cried, delighted; “you are! You look 
like Edward as I knew him twenty years ago 
—when men were men, and peace hadn’t 
settled down and made the whole world a 
monastery. Have you ever heard him tell 
of one Hugh Willock? ” 

“ Hugh Willock 1 ” exclaimed Richard in 
supreme delight, his boyish heart instantly 
going out to this stalwart man in admiration 
and pride. For years he had heard his 
father speak of Hugh Willock in greatest 
praise; and when the Baron of Devon lauded 
a man for valor, the man he praised was a 
man of extreme bravery, even in the days 
when war was the common trade and heroes 
flowered in every camp and castle. “ Yes! ” 



THE YOUJSra CRUSADER 


2T 


he cried, slipping his sword to rest in its scab¬ 
bard, and reaching down and taking Hugh’s 
great outstretched hand in both of his. 
“You shall come with me! The castle is 
but a short way. Have you a horse? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Hugh. “ He’s up the 
hill in the bush.” He turned as he spoke, 
and, putting two fingers in his mouth, blew a 
shrill whistle that woke the night echoes. 

There was a movement a short distance up 
the hill, and Richard saw a rider coming 
slowly down to the road, leading a second 
horse. The second man approached. 

Now again Richard and Peter gasped, and 
this time stared. The man who came at the 
whistle was clad in queer dark robes; he wore 
a turban, and his skin was as dark as night. 

“ You look, boy,” said Hugh, taking the 
bridle of his own horse, a magnificent black 
stallion, with a white chest, “ upon a Saracen 
—my servant. He will never talk to you, 
for he left his tongue behind him long ago.” 
The warrior, who had fought many years in 
many lands, swung his tall body easily into 


28 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


his saddle. “ Let us go on, boy,” he said, 
‘‘for, in truth, I’m hungiy—like a wild dog.” 
He turned his long, narrow burden over to 
the Saracen. “ I shall not be unwelcome. 
I bring in that box a gift fit for the king of 
England, and something else, too, lad— 
something greater, but unseen. Let us be 
on our way! ” 

The party moved, and set off briskly for 
the castle. Richard went on as in a dream, 
delighted, entranced. The sudden appear¬ 
ance of this man, of whom he had heard since 
he was a child, and the presence of the slave 
from the Orient filled him with yearning for 
adventure, and, with Father James’s words 
still in his ears, seemed to bring very near 
the war to win the Saviour’s birthplace. 




CHAPTER II 


R ichard and Willock, knee to 
knee, rode into the stretch of forest 
before them and out along the open 
way through the rugged hills; and Peter and 
the Saracen followed at a respectful distance, 
the stout young bowman eyeing the dark 
man with awe and the fierce hatred all 
Europeans felt then toward the Orientals 
with whom they had warred through a 
bloody century. 

Hugh Willock whistled to himself under 
his breath, but otherwise rode silently, save 
for an occasional question. 

“ Richard,” he remarked, suddenly, eye¬ 
ing the boy keenly in the moonlight, “ you 
are too trustful. You must not believe the 
word of every man in the road.” 

“ If you lied, perhaps we shall hang you, 
sir,” returned the boy, promptly. 

Willock laughed in his hearty way. If 

29 


I 


30 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


I were an impostor, boy, my steel would have 
been through you these many minutes,” he 
retorted, dryly. “ It is a lesson of war I am 
teaching you. A brave soldier is cautious.” 

Richard made no response, but it seemed 
strange to him to hear this man talking of 
caution. Yet he was in earnest; and, of a 
certainty, if this soldier were cautious it was 
well for less tried men to be equally so. 

“ I did not sheathe, sir,” he said, after a 
short silence, “ till you were too near to 
draw.” 

“ But I could have poniarded you,” was 
the quick response. The tall man looked at 
the boy with keen scrutiny. “You are not 
angry because of a word of advice? And, 
still, I know advice is irritating to the young 
—more so than wounds. I was even that 
way long ago. Advice is galling to the 
conceit of youth, and perhaps always will be 
so. 

“No, I was not angered,” cried Richard, 
flushing. “ I thank you. I had not thought 
of the dagger.” 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 31 

Willock laughed, and rode on again in 
silence. 

Richard, although tired, was eager to gain 
information from this man whom he had 
surrounded with romance. His imagina¬ 
tion was fired, and a thousand questions 
crowded to his tongue. But of a necessity 
he had to comport himself according to the 
other’s mood. 

The western range of hills, toward which 
they had been winding through woodland 
and along the rocky, rugged mountain-sides, 
now was close at hand, like vast walls rising 
to the autumn stars,—a clear, serrate line 
against the sky; and amidst the blackness of 
the forests and the crags there warmly 
glowed a cluster of yellow lights. The road, 
more rugged than before, led the riders to¬ 
ward these lights, and in ten minutes they 
could distinguish the vague outline of the 
Darby castle set among mighty crags. The 
great stone structure, with its crenelated 
battlements and towers, took form in the 
moonlight sifting down through the woods 



32 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


above, a grim fortress high-perched like a 
brooding eagle, seemingly inaccessible. 

Up and up the horsemen slowly climbed 
toward the lights. The moon was now be¬ 
yond the hills to the left, and they were in the 
faint starlight. The wind, bracing with the 
smell of pines and the tang of the sea, blew 
strong and chill. There was no sound save 
the wind, the brawling of some near-by 
stream, and the click, click of the horses’ 
hoofs. 

The rushing of turbulent waters grew near 
and nearer, and at length the road came to an 
abrupt end at the brink of a wide stream, 
which flashed white twenty feet below among 
the rocks as it came plunging down from its 
source high in the mountain-top. 

Directly across this foaming gulf, at a 
distance of two hundred feet, the great 
castle, warm with light, stood outlined 
clearly against the sky, and the heavy bridge, 
which formed the only approach, was svmng 
up on its axle. 

Richard cried out loudly, and on the op- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


33 


posite side of this natural moat three men 
approached promptly and gave response, at 
once letting the bridge come slowly and 
creakingly down to its rests on the bank 
where the travelers waited. The young 
noble led the way, and, with the others, was 
soon across and riding toward the stables, 
while the men at the stream immediately 
swung the bridge to its former position. 

Richard and the welcome guest left the 
stables and went into the castle and toward 
the dining-hall. 

Edward, the Baron of Darby, was a man 
of thrift. He did not waste his substance or 
live after the wild, unbridled manner not un¬ 
common among his equals. He was proud 
of Darby, and proud of his castle. All his 
life he had wielded his sword; but by nature 
he was domestic, a man of progress and a 
builder. 

In the Darby castle he had placed in a 
number of chambers windows of glass, the 
art of making which had been learned from 
the French. On his tables, always groaning 


34 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


with mutton and beef, vegetables and 
wheaten bread, there was to be seen at times 
a vessel of sugar, although, of course, honey 
was the common sweet, as throughout most 
of England. Three times each week the 
dining-hall was strewn with clean straw. 

Willock, traveler as he was, could not for¬ 
bear to speak of the evidence of taste and 
wealth. 

“ You are brought up as in a king’s 
palace, Richard,” he observed. “ T am— 
disappointed,” he added, oddly, half under 
his breath. 

The dining-hall was a large rectangular 
room, well lighted with oil lamps and the 
blazing logs in a vast fireplace, and when 
Richard and Hugh entered the table was still 
laden with eatables, although most of those 
who ate there—Richard’s three sisters, his 
two aunts, and seven of his father’s officers— 
had finished their meal and left. 

Edward, the baron, was alone with two 
small brown spaniels, sitting on a settle near 
the crackling fire, and at the vociferous 




THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


35 


warning of the two dogs, which jumped from 
the settle and stood barking toward the door, 
he arose and stared at his son’s stalwart, 
browned companion—^very much as if he 
had seen a ghost. 

The baron was a very big man, with 
leonine head and bull neck. Although mas¬ 
sive, yet he was splendidly proportioned. 
He was handsome, too, although his face and 
neck were swollen with an excess of blood. 

“ Willock! ” he cried in disbelief. “ Hugh 
Willock! It can’t be!” 

“ Aye! It is 1 ” responded Hugh with a 
shout, his eye flashing with pleasure, and, 
ignoring the yelping dogs, he strode forward 
and grasped the baron’s hand. 

After this first greeting, cordial on both 
sides, Willock, who was almost as big as the 
baron, although cleaner cut, drew back and 
looked his friend over with a grave face. 

‘‘ A pity! A pity! ” he exclaimed, dolo¬ 
rously. “Man! Are you a pigeon! ” 

Edward smiled. “ Have you supped? ” 
he asked. “ We will talk after.” 


36 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


“ No.” 

Edward clapped his hands and shouted 
out for servants, two of whom came running 
for his bidding. 

Hugh and Richard sat down at the table, 
and both ate their fill, the former burying his 
scar with every mouthful in his tankard of 
ale. 

“ Ah! ” sighed Willock. “ My throat is 
parched for this good ale. There is no ale 
in France or Spain—none even in Germany 
—to compare with it.” 

When the hearty meal was over, the three 
men seated themselves in the rude, deep 
settles before the snapping logs, and, to 
Richard’s great delight, Hugh and the baron 
talked of the days of long before, and of the 
wars in which together or singly they had 
wielded their swords. 

The two warriors became enthusiastic 
over the recital of their stirring adventures, 
and Willock, rallying the baron on his peace¬ 
ful life, bluntly brought the conversation to 
the present. 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


37 


“ Surely, Edward,’’ he said, mopping his 
scarred, glowing face and fixing his bright 
eyes upon him, “ you go with the king? You 
have no wish to have the ladies of the court 
send you a distaff, which was what his 
mother, Eleanor, and her ladies did years 
ago to stay-at-home knights.” 

“ I serve the king here,” returned Edward, 
his red face growing a bit redder. “ He 
must have money. He had over one hun¬ 
dred thousand marks' from Henry, his 
father, and yet he must have more. I 
frankly tell you, Willock, that while I 
squirm much to think that Saladin has re¬ 
taken Jerusalem, I do not like this crusade. 
Richard presses the country for money. He 
has sold earldoms, and he has sold William 
ail the rights that Henry once had to Scot¬ 
land.” 

Richard coughed in warning, but his 
father laughed aloud. 

“ Hugh Willock, boy, is as true as the steel 
he wears, and I dare to speak before him. 

* Mark. A silver coin wortli about $3.25. 


38 


THE YOJma CKUSADER 


No, I go not, Willock. I have pressed hard 
for the king’s taxes, and, in truth, I dare 
not leave here. I am as good a Christian 
as the next, but the time is gone for this 
crusading.” 

“ Yet you may cease pressing for the taxes 
now, Edward. The king’s coffers must 
groan, for from the dogs of Jews he has got 
more—it is said—than from all England. 
You have heard of the killing at York? 
Upwards of three hundred took refuge 
there, and, besieged, all save a few killed 
themselves, and the rest were put to 
the sword by loyal Christians after they 
had beguiled them by giving pledge of 
safety.” 

“ I have heard,” said Edward, who, of 
course, had no pity for the Jews or horror at 
the treacherous massacre. 

‘‘ The affair at York,” went on Hugh, “ as 
you may know, made the king raving mad, 
for the fools burned all the bonds and obliga¬ 
tions taken, which otherwise would have 
escheated to him.” 




THE YOUNG CRUSADER 39 

“ I am done with the East,” asserted the 
big baron. 

Hugh looked at him with falling face. 
He was plainly disappointed, and yet there 
was a peculiar twinkle in his eye. 

“ And you will sit still and pay the tax, 
Edward? ” 

“ I will pay all that is required,” answered 
Edward, with a grim smile, which his old 
friend knew meant he would squeeze from 
his people money he should pay directly 
from his own coffers. 

‘‘ Then you are rich? ” 

“ No! ” The baron denied it with a ro¬ 
bust oath. “No!” 

“It’s well!” exclaimed Hugh, and he 
brought his right hand down with a whack 
upon the edge of the settle. As Edward, 
his neck swelling, turned upon him at this 
unexpected comment, Willock slyly winked 
an eye at him, then nodded toward Richard. 
“ An upstanding lad, old friend. Fine 
shoulders, keen eye, but too trustful.” 

“ A good-enough boj%” returned the 


40 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


baron, carelessly, “ but much of an old 
woman—full of queer notions—odd/’ 

“ I think him no more of an old woman 
than you,” cried Willock, with his hearty, 
infectious laugh. 

“ I am done with the East, sir,” said Ed¬ 
ward, with a touch of anger in his voice. 
“ But I swallow no taunts, dear friend, from 
any man. Have done! ” 

Sprawling back before the fire, the wan¬ 
derer laughed loudly, but in a tone at which 
his friend took no offense. His scarred face 
glowed red in the firelight, and while he 
roared he winked again slyly at the other. 

“ I bring you an offering, Edward,” he 
declared, sobering, “ from an old friend in 
Lisbon—Carrano, whom you saved in 
Genoa. It is a gift fit for the king himself, 
and I have been tempted many times to hold 
it for mv own.” 

“ A gift? Ah, Carrano was a fine soldier 
—for one of Portugal. A gift? What sort 
of gift? ” Edward sat up, curious as a boy, 
for gifts from afar off were in these days not 




THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


41 


common to a small noble. His eyes glis¬ 
tened, too, for, as Willock well knew, 
greed was his great vice. 

“Aye, Edward.—Hey! You rascal 
there! ” In a sharp tone Hugh shouted to a 
serving-man who had come to the fire to 
put on another four-foot log of oak. 

“ Sir? ” responded the man at the fire, 
turning when his task was done and mop¬ 
ping his half-scorched face. 

“ Find me the dark-skinned man, the 
Moor, who came with me this night, and 
fetch me hither the long box. But, stay! ” 
he cried, suddenly, as the fellow turned. 
“ He will not yield it to you. Bring him 
and the box.” He turned wdth a smile upon 
his firm lips, and refused to answer ques¬ 
tions. 

In a few minutes the baron's servant re¬ 
turned, accompanied by the Saracen, who 
carried the long box under his arm. 

“ Come forward, you leather-colored 
dog,” ordered Hugh. 

The Saracen body-servant, tall and 


42 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


straight, came forward into the light of the 
fire, his dark face inscrutable, his eyes fear¬ 
less. 

As he stood out in plain view, the Baron 
of Darby arose impulsively, stretching his 
great frame erect, his nostrils widening, his 
eyes under their ledges of brow glittering 
like sword-points. 

“A Saracen!” he exclaimed, his fingers 
working. 

The Saracen eyed him steadily and showed 
no concern, although he allowed his gaze to 
fall. 

Hugh Willock laughed. “ Still have you 
no desire for the East? Hold! No man 
shall touch this dog—save me. But I see 
thy right hand itches, Edward, as all true 
Christian hands must itch to draw sword 
against the infidel. The box, Hazri, you 
hound.’’ 

The Saracen, with the slightest sparkle in 
his eyes, bent his proud body and tendered 
the box to his master. Captive in a far land, 
Hazri had been about to die by flaying; and 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


43 


Willock, ruthless on the field, but not a cold- 
hearted ruffian, had in a whim saved him. 
Although hating all Christians with an ever¬ 
lasting hatred, yet he loved Hugh with a 
whole-souled devotion. 

“ Go! ” commanded Hugh, as he took the 
box. He flashed up a quick look at the 
slave. “ Do they treat you well? ” 

Hazri inclined his head to show assent. 

“ Then go.” 

When Hazri and the baron’s man had left 
the hall and the three nobles were again alone 
before the fire, Hugh with his dagger cut 
open the peculiar matting about the box, dis¬ 
closing a black, highly polished case, took a 
key from his belt wallet, and turned the 
lock. 

“ This was sent to Edward, the Baron of 
Darby, not to an old woman,” he observed, 
his scarred face twisting in a wide grin. 

“Have done!” exclaimed Edward, im¬ 
patiently. 

“ Perhaps,” remarked Willock, still with¬ 
out opening the box, “ you will best let me 


44 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


make the present to this boy, Richard.” 
With his hand upon the box-cover, he turned 
and looked at Richard with his twisting, win¬ 
ning smile. “ He must not remain here, shut 
up in the hills like a toothless old man,” he 
added, noting Richard’s excited, expectant 
face. “ He itches for Palestine and the 
glory of entering Jerusalem with His Maj¬ 
esty, Richard the first.” 

The baron arose, his face and neck scarlet 
with a rush of blood. His keen eyes flashed. 

“ Man! ” he cried. “ For less I have put 
steel through vitals I ” 

“ But never through vitals of a man like 
me,” retorted Hugh, boldly. “ Never! ” 
He still did not open the box, and he raised 
his keen eyes and met the baron’s flashing, 
angry gaze. 

For a moment or two the nobles stared 
into each other’s eyes, each fearless, trem¬ 
bling on the brink of a bloody quarrel. Then 
suddenly Hugh burst into one of his roars of 
laughter, and, the tension gone, Edward 
joined in his roar. 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


45 


You are not yet—quite an old woman,” 
declared the crafty soldier, who had 
patiently worked to arouse the other’s curi¬ 
osity and anger. “ So, boy,”—^he turned 
with his laughing eyes to Richard,—“ you 
must wait for this—only the Great One 
knows how long.” 

He threw back the cover of the box as he 
spoke, and drew out a long object wrapped 
in red silk. Unrolling this silk, he disclosed 
a sword with hilt and scabbard of marvelous 
beauty and workmanship. 

The weapon was four feet long, and the 
blade was encased in a sheath of some brown, 
soft leather, with tip and ferules of chased 
gold, and belt-rings of the same metal. The 
hilt and the straight crosspiece, which 
formed a cross, were curiously wrought of 
gold and silver. Upon one side of the hilt 
was a delicate image of the Saviour crucified, 
while upon the other were two hands clasped 
in amity, with a splendid diamond set above 
them. 

Hugh whipped the great blade from the 


46 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


scabbard, a glittering, flashing slip of steel 
over three feet long, tapering from about 
two inches at the hilt to a quarter-of-an-inch 
point. In the firelight it flashed like 
quiet water in afternoon sunshine, red as 
with blood. Hugh held out the naked blade 
before the wide-eyed, admiring father and 
son, with its Latin inscription, “ For the 
honor of God.” 

“ Damascus steel, Edward,” said he; and 
put the tip to the floor and bent the blade 
almost double. “ Made in Lisbon as a 
whole. The weight—for a man! ” With a 
dexterous turn of the wrist he sheathed the 
magnificent blade and held the weapon to¬ 
ward the baron. “ In honor,” he said, slowly, 
when Edward took the heavy sword with a 
delighted face, “ you must use it against the 
Saracen—or let it eat itself away in rust on 
the wall.” 

“A noble weapon!” exclaimed Edward, 
with sparkling eye. He loved beautiful 
things, and was—or had been—a soldier. 
“ But—it shall rust.” 



“Damascus steel, Edward.”— Page 46, 







THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


47 


Once more Hugh burst into a roar. “ I 
would talk of old days together—alone— 
before the hour is too late,” he said, bluntly. 
He chuckled as he saw the other fondle the 
rich gift from the fiery knight of Portugal, 
who had remembered him in so royal a way. 

“ To bed, boy,” said the baron, bending 
his eyes curiously upon the other man. 

With a last rapturous gaze at the wonder¬ 
ful sword, Richard, flushed of face and 
yearning to be off for the East, left the hall 
and went immediately to his chamber. 
From his window he could glimpse through 
a notch in the crags of his home an expanse 
of the Channel shining in the moonlight, and 
for a long time he stood there, wishing that 
he might sail that water with the king when 
he set out to win back the Holy City. 



CHAPTER III 


R ichard awoke with a start to find 
his shoulder shaken by Rhoda, his 
eldest sister, a tall, dark young 
woman, whose beauty was a feminine 
counterpart of his manly comeliness. 

It was morning, and the sun was stream¬ 
ing golden through the deep stone window- 
recesses. 

“ Your father! ” cried Rhoda, chokingly, 
as she saw him open his eyes, her face work¬ 
ing in excitement and distress. 

Seeing his sister’s expression, Richard 
threw off the last clutch of slumber and half 
sat up, his eyes wide open. He looked 
about the room, and saw Peter, his comical, 
broad face very sober, standing near the 
doorway. 

“ What is it? ” he asked. 

48 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 49 

Rhoda laid her head down on his coverlet 
and wept. 

“ Our father is with the host of heaven,” 
she answered, at length, arising. She 
calmed herself and dried her eyes. 

With a wildly beating heart, Richard sat 
upright and beckoned Peter from the door. 

Willock!” he queried in a hard tone, his 
memory quickly recalling the fiery words 
and looks between the two old friends. “ Is 
he here—or gone? ” 

“ Here, sir,” responded Peter. 

“ There was no violence, Richard,” said 
Rhoda, understanding his suspicion. “ Our 
father had a falling fit, and, for all the 
leech, expired in the early hours. Aunt 
Matilda was with him. He spoke no 
word.” 

“ I’ll get up,” declared the young fellow. 
When Rhoda had left, he jumped out of bed, 
and, with Peter’s clumsy aid, dressed him¬ 
self as usual, strapping on his sword. Then 
he went below at once. 

The Baron of Darby had expired at four 



50 


THE YOUKG CEUSADER 


o’clock in the morning, his death being due 
to the bursting of a blood vessel. He and 
Willock had been together, and the guest 
had given instant alarm, but nothing could 
avail. 

After breakfast Richard looked upon his 
father’s body, and immediately, as was neces¬ 
sary, took his position as head of the castle 
and lord of the fief. 

In the middle of the forenoon he sent for 
Willock, and, when Hugh came, met him 
with a hard face. In his mind was the 
thought—and it was true enough—that the 
wanderer was indirectly the cause of the 
baron’s death, by exciting him to fever heat, 
as must have been the case when they were 
alone. 

Hugh frankly told him how the night had 
gone, and graphically painted his old 
friend’s high enthusiasm. 

“ I loved your father, Richard,” he de¬ 
clared, gravely, “ and it is a sore blow to me, 
for, upon my word, he had sworn to go from 
Darby on the crusade. It was his enthusiasm 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 51 

that undid him. ’Tis hard.” The stern 
adventurer was very sober, and there was no 
doubt that he was feeling sorrow and keen 
disappointment at the death of his friend. 
“ I doubt not you would have gone in his 
following. Alas! Now Carrano’s sword 
must rust.” He cast a covert glance at the 
boy’s set face. “ Unless,” he added, as if the 
thought had just come to him, “ you care to 
do as your father would have done, and head 
the men of Darby when Jerusalem is taken 
again.” 

“ It is ill time to talk it now, sir,” returned 
Richard, but his dark cheeks flushed and his 
eyes sparkled. 

Hugh bowed his head, and, after a few 
tactful words of sympathy and proffers of 
help, left the apartment. 

When he was gone, Peter, who had been 
present, approached his master. 

“ I like him little, sir,” he said, “ begging 
your pardon. He is not a good Christian, 
for I have seen him hind to the Saracen. He 
tells us there is much gold and silver to be 


52 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


had in the East, and I know well it is right 
for Christians to gain it. I doubt not he 
would rather see a vessel of gold than the 
Holy Birthplace.” 

Richard made no response, but eyed him 
sternly. 

“ I crave pardon,” said Peter, respect¬ 
fully, although in a persistent tone, “ but 
I have seen him Mnd to the Saracen—even 
as I said. How can he be a good Chris¬ 
tian? ” 

Now Richard was kind-hearted, even 
tender, and this was a thing that made him 
seem odd, even to his father. He laughed 
slightly, for he could see that Peter, like 
most all those he knew, deemed kindness to 
enemies a fault and looked upon looting as 
a virtue. 

“ I am sure your good father must have 
believed in the gold in plenty. Sir Richard, 
for I have heard Sir Hugh say he had de¬ 
cided to go to the war.” 

“ Enough! ” cried Richard, flushing with 
anger. He knew his father’s failing, but 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


53 


resented Peter’s rather plain speech. “You 
talk of what you don’t understand—and im¬ 
pudently. Get away, and quickly, lest I 
have you well beaten.” 

Peter shrugged his shoulders, and, with a 
sly grin, left the room, too wise to venture 
further words. 

On the following morning Baron Edward 
was put away to rest in the family vault, 
and thereafter for some time Richard 
found ample matters to keep him very 
busy. ^ 

He did not neglect his guest, Hugh Wil- 
lock, for whom he quickly regained his great 
regard; and as the days went on, and he felt 
himself indeed the master and baron, he let 
his mind dwell more and more upon the 
crusade. He was full of the enthusiasm of 
youth, and of the ideals that wrought men 
to a high pitch of chivalry in the days when 
they went forth with real religious zeal to 
wrest Palestine from the Turk; and little 
was needed to make him decide to leave 
England. 


54 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


Willock stayed on at the castle, a merry, 
useful companion, and artfully he fanned the 
boy’s desire to go forth. He loved this 
frank, handsome lad even more, far more, 
than he had ever loved his friend Edward; 
but at times he stood at a distance and re¬ 
garded him with a wrinkled brow and puz¬ 
zled eye. Hugh Willock had spent his life 
in fighting. Many times he had won gi'eat 
sums of gold, and always he had spent them 
as easily as he had gained them; but now, 
ambitious to find place and even to become 
fixed in England, the day had come when 
he desired to fill his purse and to hold his 
treasure. A yearning for gold, therefore, 
was the father to his wish to set back again 
for Palestine. He realized, of course, that 
no such motive weighed with Richard, and 
talked accordingly. Yet he was too keen a 
man, also too good a friend, to try to deceive 
the young baron; he frankly stated that he 
expected to make money if he went, and that 
he desired so to do. 

Richard understood that the seasoned 


THE YOUHa CRUSADER 


soldier was not actuated by the same zeal 
that moved him; but he had a strong affec¬ 
tion for him, and, moreover, knew that his 
services would be invaluable. 

Early in the year he reached his decision, 
and at the table one evening arose and de¬ 
clared to his household that he would muster 
a company in Darby and sail with the king 
when the time came. 

With Willock’s help he at once made 
preparations for the expedition, recruiting 
with care the most reliable men of his barony. 
He forced no one to go, for he wanted will¬ 
ing hearts. In the end he assembled a com¬ 
pany of seventy stout Darby men, part of 
them swordsmen, the rest skilled archers; and 
all of them had seen service in tKe occasional 
battles among the barons. 

The king’s fleet was already lying at Dart¬ 
mouth, fifty miles away, and it was learned 
that the vessels would probably sail shortly 
after Easter. 

With ample guards in the strong castle, 
his eldest sister, Rhoda, in charge, her cap- 


56 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


tain a trusty warrior who had been a boy with 
Edward, Richard felt quite at ease to leave 
England. 

On Easter morning, a bright, clear day, 
the grim body of horsemen thudded across 
the drawbridge and wound down the moun¬ 
tain. Richard, in his coat of ring-mail, but 
wearing only his soft cap, his father’s new 
sword at his thigh, rode before his men with 
the tall, scarred veteran, his heart swelling 
with joy and zeal. 

The Darby men rode gayly along through 
their home hills, now and then breaking into 
a rude chorus. 

“ I like to hear men sing,” observed Hugh. 
‘‘ But I would fain hear their song far 
away,” he added, dryly. “We go on no 
pleasure trip.” 

The boy leader cast a proud eye back upon 
the body of stout fellows, upon whose steel 
caps and weapons the sunlight was dancing 
like a line of fire. 

“ These men will fight for me to the last 
drop,” he asserted with conviction. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


57 


“ The men of Darby are good fighters,” 
admitted Hugh. “ I myself, boy, was born 
in Devon.” 

“ I hope, sir,” said the hoy, ‘‘ I shall merit 
your good opinion and regard.” Involun¬ 
tarily he caressed the magnificent gift of 
Carrano, of Lisbon, which had come virgin 
to him so unexpectedly soon. 

“ I doubt not you will,” returned the 
other with a warm smile. “ You have a 
weapon the great Richard himself might 
be proud to wield. You may have many a 
chance to test it before you see the Saracen, 
boy.” 

‘‘ Yet I shall not draw it before I see them! 
Peter carries my own sword ready.” 

Hugh smiled and glanced back at Peter, 
who carried his master’s sword at his saddle¬ 
bow. He was proud of Richard, and the 
boy’s enthusiasm and chivalrous ideals made 
him think of his own youth. 

All day long the cavalcade wound through 
the glorious hills toward the seaport where 
the crusading fleet was lying; and at night. 


68 


THE YOUNG CRUSADEE 


at Willock’s advice, they bivouacked instead 
of pressing on for the remaining short dis¬ 
tance. 

“ The moon will be up early,” he said, 
“ and, if you wish, we can ride on then and be 
in Dartmouth by early morning.” 

“ I would do so/’ answered Richard, 
eagerly, for he was impatient of delay. 

After supper in the woods the company 
resumed its journey, and Richard and Hugh, 
now in hauberk and conical steel caps, with 
chain-mail covering neck and ears, rode in 
the lead as during the day. The sky had 
become somewhat overcast while they were 
encamped, and, although the moon had risen 
early, shining occasionally through a rift in 
the clouds, the way was dark and the going 
uncertain among the forests and the rocky 
defiles. 

“ Grand places for- ambush,” observed 
Hugh, casting his eye about as they passed 
along a stretch of road hemmed in on each 
side by gigantic boulders and rough walls 
almost sheer for a score of feet. “ Were I 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


59 


a collector for the tithe, boy, I should enjoy 
this ride but little.” 

‘‘ I think we shall meet no man here who 
would care to draw sword or arrow against 
us,” returned the young leader. We are 
now in the fief of Sir Hubert Grant, one of 
father’s friends, though he came seldom to 
Darby. I understand evil days have fallen 
upon him. His castle was destroyed by 
King Henry, and it is said Sir Hubert left 
England long ago.” 

“ And yet, boy,” said Willock, “ I feel 
sensible of some trouble to come.” He held 
his head high, and glanced about the rugged 
way and at the banks under which they were 
riding. 

They emerged at length from the defile, 
and silently, save for the jingle of steel and 
the tramp of horses’ hoofs, passed along an 
open mile of road, coming at the end to 
another narrow, rocky pass. Beyond this 
gorge there was seen an open space, and 
farther beyond pine woods. 

The cavalcade, all drowsy in the night, 


60 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


trooped along the road among the rough 
walls of rock. 

Hugh suddenly touched Richard on the 
elbow. “ I feel eyes, boy! ” he declared in a 
hoarse whisper. 

Richard flashed a look at his friend, for 
the moment thinking he jested; but he saw 
that the warrior was loosening his long 
sword, and noticed, too, that his eyes were 
aglitter and that his face was set in a grim 
smile that made his scar stand out like a 
ridge. 

“ Then let us raise an alarm and drive 
through, sir. It would be our best chance.” 

Hugh nodded, and on the instant raised 
his voice in a shout that rang in the defile 
and mad^ every man-at-arms of the troop 
jerk straight in his saddle and awake with a 
thrill of fear. 

“Darby!” shouted Richard in his clear, 
ringing voice. “ For Darby! Forward! ” 
Grasping his sword from Peter, who rode 
near, he struck steel to his horse, and with 
Hugh started toward the end of the gorge 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 61 

at a fiery gallop, his startled company thun¬ 
dering after them. 

For a moment it seemed as if Hugh had 
given a false alarm, and even as they bore on 
like the wind, Richard thought that the other 
had spoken but to try his courage and wit. 
But Hugh had given no needless alarm. In 
fact, he had more than felt eyes; he had seen 
a man and the glint of steel on the left 
bank. 

As the troop thundered forward there 
was a queer twang, twang from the top of 
the walls, and one of the horses went down 
with a great thud, his rider thrown like a 
pebble and bawling out in terror till his voice 
went forever. Again the twang, twang 
sounded, and more than one man felt the 
whiz of a flying arrow. 

The open way lay before them at length, 
and Richard and Hugh, with drawn swords, 
dashed forward and out of the rocks. As 
they galloped into the open, their men fol¬ 
lowing like a wave, a knot of horsemen 
swept from the dark wall of the wood and 


62 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


opposed them. They met with a great shock 
and a clashing of steel. 

The men from the pines—a mere handful 
—cried out when they saw the numbers issue 
from the defile, and would have turned, but 
Richard’s men surged about and hemmed 
them in. 

Richard met the foremost rider, a big man 
in a black coat-of-mail, and their blades 
crossed with a fierce ring. They were 
pressed in so closely, however, even knee to 
knee, that their long swords were of little 
use, but each tried to dash his hilt against 
the other, to throw him among the swirling 
fighters. 

In this surging press Hugh Willock was 
like a thing of fury. His great sword 
flashed like lightning, and he shouted out 
wildly in a strange tongue. 

The combat was furious for a few 
moments, but the men from the wood were 
but seven, and the Darby men overwhelmed 
them and in turmoil sent them speedily 
down, horse and man. 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 63 

When the last man was down save Rich¬ 
ard’s opponent, Hugh Willock, with a great 
shout, pressed his horse forward among the 
Darby men and the fallen, kicking horses 
and vanquished ambushers and uplifted his 
blade. 

“No!” roared Richard, seeing his inten¬ 
tion. “No!” 

A dozen more swords were already raised 
to help hem in the last horseman, Rich¬ 
ard’s adversary; but the men-at-arms, heed¬ 
ing their leader’s stern command, stayed 
their hands, yet holding their position. 

Richard dropped his sword, and, leaning 
forward, suddenly grasped the other’s sword 
arm and with a terrific wrench disarmed him. 
Then, grasping the man about the waist, he 
tore him, big as he was, from his saddle. 

The horses reared as the two interlocked 
in this fierce embrace, and down went the 
young lord with his arms about the man in 
black mail. They fell among dying men 
and plunging horses, but escaped injury. 

As soon as they were down, Hugh forced 


64 


THE YOUJSTG CEUSADER 


back the crowd, and, jumping from his horse, 
hastened forward to his young friend, who 
was uppermost, still holding the big man 
with whom he had engaged. Willock was 
no laggard at such a time. Throwing him¬ 
self forward, he dragged the two fighters 
away from a dying horse, whose hoofs 
threatened to brain one or both, then held 
his dagger to the throat of Richard’s captive 
and grimly bade him let go the boy and arise. 

Releasing the man, Richard scrambled to 
his feet and retrieved his sword, which he 
gave to Peter, who was half crying with joy 
to see Richard arise unhurt. 

The prisoner was now standing with 
Hugh among the Darby men. He was a 
very big man, almost as big as Willock, and 
bore himself without a trace of fear. His 
face was dark and stern, and showed no 
emotion as he looked upon the dead bodies 
of the men who had issued from the forest 
with him. 

“ This was a mistake,” said lie to Hugh. 
“ I looked for another, having sure word 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


65 


that he would come this way. We looked 
for no such force.” 

“ But your archers,” observed Hugh. 
“ They were scant of loyalty.” 

“ A mere half-dozen,” returned the other. 
“ I am glad they did not remain.” 

Richard approached at this moment, and 
he stared at the man with a flushing face. 

“Sir Hubert Grant!” he stammeringly 
exclaimed in astonishment. 

Sir Hubert was as much surprised as the 
boy. He smiled at him, admiration in his 
eyes. 

“ You have great strength and promise, 
Richard,” he said. “ I have been deemed a 
strong man, but I am not your equal.” 

“ There was no late enmity between you 
and my father, now dead. Sir Hubert? ” 

“ None, Richard. This is a great mis¬ 
take.” The stern-faced noble repeated what 
he had told Hugh Willock. “ So your 
father, my good friend, is indeed dead? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ He was a more fortunate man than I. 


66 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


We were much together in other days. It 
ill beseems me, perhaps, to say it, but your 
father was at times indebted to me.” 

“ He so stated many times,” responded 
Richard, promptly, and put out his hand in 
friendship. “ You saved his life, and turned 
King Henry’s anger from him.” 

“ But could not from myself in the end,” 
put in Sir Hubert, dryly. “ I have no 
quarrel with the past, however, not even with 
the wrong Henry put upon me, who had 
served him so well.” The tall man spoke 
without passion, but his face was moody, and 
there was bitterness in his voice. 

Richard felt a strange embarrassment in 
the presence of his prisoner. He remem¬ 
bered him as a great lord, a friend to his 
father, and remembered the time when Sir 
Hubert had been very kind to him. 

“You were looking for some other, 
friend? ” queried Willock. 

Sir Hubert proudly looked the stalwart, 
clean-cut soldier in the eye, meeting a glance 
as steady and haughty as his own. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 67 

Richard quickly made the two known to 
each other as equals. 

“ As I stated/’ answered Hubert, after a 
few courteous words to Hugh, “ it was a 
mistake. I have held this boy as a baby in 
my arms. I have no quarrel with him.” 

“ Yet,” said Hugh, “ I like this ambush 
very little.” 

Sir Hubert shrugged his shoulders, and 
turned to Richard. 

‘‘ I will be frank with you, Richard. I am 
attainted; I am outlaw, and like a hare in the 
fields.” 

“ Attainted! ” exclaimed Richard, as¬ 
tounded. “ Whv? ” 

•/ 

“ I am undone by Mercado,” returned Sir 
Hubert, his stern face growing very hard. 
“ I had taken the Cross, as all men know, 
and had served Henry faithfully against his 
faithless sons. Even though he had broken 
my power, I was with him when he made his 
shameful treaty with Richard on the plain 
near Tours and fell into a raging fit when he 
learned that John, his beloved son, headed 


68 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


the list of those leagued with Philip of 
France against him. Mercado, the king’s 
collector, came into my barony, routed me, 
cleaned the country of the last mark and 
kept it for himself, reporting me to Richard 
a traitor and rebel. In this bitter time my 
wife and two of my daughters have been lost 
—skilled with arrows! Think you I love 
Mercado—or the king, who cares nothing for 
England save as his mine for money? ” 

Hugh ejaculated at this recital, told in 
the calm of terrible passion, and he sternly 
waved back the press of Richard’s men, who 
were listening with wide eyes and bated 
breath. 

“Stand back!” He ordered, sharply. 
“ Stand back, louts! ” He turned to Sir 
Hubert with an expression not unkindly. 
“ You speak, sir, dangerous words. We go 
to the king now.” 

“ I speak the truth,” returned Hubert, 
curtly. “ I learned that Mercado was com¬ 
ing this way to Dartmouth. As for my 
words, I fear no man and no fate.” 



THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


69 


Richard spoke quickly, his generous spirit 
touched with compassion for his father’s un¬ 
fortunate friend, the once great baron now 
an outlaw. 

“ Yes,” he cried, ‘‘ we go on the crusade. 
Come with us to the king, and I doubt not 
he will do justice.” 

“ I prefer the hills,” said Sir Hubert with 
a slight smile. ‘‘ Mercado has me bound in 
lies.” 

“ The king would have no such betrayal 
as you tell! ” exclaimed Richard. “ I know 
it! Nay! Come down with us. I would 
love to see you made right. I feel it my own 
cause to set you at peace.” Kindness and 
eagerness to do good throbbed in the boy’s 
voice, and his dark, handsome face shone 
with generous purpose. 

“ Can he give back my dead? No, RicH- 
ard. I go not willingly, for it would do no 
good.” 

“ You have the truth of it there, Sir 
Hubert,” agreed Willock, curtly. “ You 
are unfortunate. I know Mercado, and— 


70 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


well, in truth, I would delight to have him 
come this way now/" Hugh’s face set in his 
grim smile, and he nodded to the outlawed 
noble. 

“ I thank you, sir,” said Sir Hubert, re¬ 
turning the other’s friendly glance. 

“ If you will not go,” exclaimed Richard, 
“ then I will even speak for you. I will see 
the king and move him to right you in this 
matter. I pledge you! ” 

Hugh threw up his hands with a little 
laugh. 

“ A new cause,” commented he, dryly. 
“ Think you the taking of Palestine so light 
you can take another? ” 

“ A thousand! I can take a thousand for 
the right! ” returned Richard. “ Give me 
your hand, Sir Hubert. We must go on. 
You are free to go.” 

Sir Hubert, with softened face, took the 
boy’s hand and then embraced him. 

“ You have a generous si^irit, Richard. 
If you can get favor, my third daughter— 
the last—^as fair as any maid in Devon 


THE YOU]N"a CRUSADER 71 

—shall say prayers for you to the last 
day.” 

“ I pledge you my effort for your right¬ 
ing, Sir Hubert,” promised Richard, fer¬ 
vently, with shining eyes. “ Now, God be 
with you, sir.” 

At a sign from Richard, the man who held 
Sir Hubert’s sword yielded it to the owner. 
Sir Hubert sheathed the blade, thanked 
Richard again very warmly, bowed to Hugh, 
and then, mounting his horse, disapj)eared 
from view along a downward path in the 
forest. 

Richard and Hugh mounted their horses 
and started off again toward the sea. 

It was early morning when they came out 
of the forest, and the birds were beginning 
to chirrup and sing blithely. There was 
warmth in the air, and the smell of day and 
of the ocean came with the light. When 
they reached the top of the last ridge of hills, 
Richard, grave of face, with firm lips, and a 
generous purpose and zeal in his heart, was 
riding apart from all. The sun was rising 


72 THE YOUNG CRUSADER 

red on the sea rim and shining on the waters 
below them, over the hills and on the town 
of Dartmouth and the vessels of the king’s 
fleet in the harbor. 


CHAPTER IV 


T he few cottages and fishermen’s 
huts comjDrising the town of Dart¬ 
mouth lay some distance from the 
water, clustered among century-old oaks. 
Ordinarily it was of little importance. Now, 
however, chosen for the departing place of 
most of Richard’s English following, it was 
transformed into a seething, bustling city. 
All about on the hills, near and far, even to 
the crests, stood the snow-white tents of the 
crusaders, each knot of canvas dwellings the 
transient town of some company off for the 
war and marked by the captain’s fluttering 
banner. 

Many hundreds of stout men crowded 

among the tents, along the shore and on the 

highway, men of all ranks in life, lord and 

serf, brown-faced, stern-eyed men who had 

known war for years, and stalwart youths, 

73 


74 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


raw save for rough life at home, but eager to 
try their steel in far lands. Horsemen in 
steel coats and caps jangled down the road, 
gay with color, laughing, jesting, the sun 
aglint upon their trappings. Swordsmen 
and archers and sailors swarmed everywhere, 
loud of mouth and jovial; and nobles and 
lords, in silks and in steel, rode among the 
rabble on magnificent horses, proud of face 
and mien. 

Along the highway, which ran in conform¬ 
ity with the shore, under the trees were 
booths where could be bought ale, swords 
and daggers, ribbons and trinkets, and wares 
of all kinds. Queer, foreign men juggled 
knives and balls with gaping groups about 
them; and here and there a smooth-tongued 
fellow or an old woman agreed to tell for a 
mere song all that should ever occur to him 
who would stay to listen—and pay. 

It was a motley, marvelously strange and 
inspiring scene, flashing and dancing before 
the eye like sliding, swift-moving pictures. 

Nor was this encampment on the land the 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


75 


only inspiring xiicture before the eye. Upon 
the harbor surface, blue as heaven and spar¬ 
kling in the morning sun, the great fleet of 
carriers and war-galleys lay ready to take 
this host out upon the sea. And the sight 
of these vessels, with their streaming ban¬ 
ners and signs of busy life aboard and about 
them—the loading of stores going on every 
minute, while scores of small boats darted 
here and there among them—seemed the first 
real step to romance and to the war in the 
land where the mighty Turk had maintained 
his stand for two hundred years with sword 
and spear. 

Richard and his men were dumb with 
wonder as they rode into Dartmouth among 
the war host, and looked upon the city of 
tents and the vessels as if they saw a vision. 

“ It is grand! ” exclaimed Richard. 

“Uh! Uh!” grunted Peter, his mouth 
wide open and his blue eyes protruding like 
plums. 

“ Y^es, it is good,” said Hugh Willock, 
looking upon the scene with a trained and 



7G 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


critical eye. He laughed at Richard's frank 
delight and astonishment; but, used as he 
was to war and the pomp and glitter of it, 
he straightened his broad shoulders and 
flushed slightly with ardor. In truth, the 
sight was a goodly one, and he was proud of 
England. “ Y^et, boy,” he said, his proud 
head high, his brilliant eye twinkling with 
good humor and pleasure, “ this is but a 
small part of the king’s army,” 

“ I can hardly believe,” returned Richard. 
“ Can London itself hold more? ” 

Hugh laughed outright. “ This is a gay 
showing,” he admitted. “ These are mostly 
fighters, and I like what my eye sees; but, 
lad, this number would melt before Saladin 
like snow in the desert. You must not be¬ 
little the Turk in the mind; neither give him 
the advantage of your fear. Have fear of 
nobody; yet meet every man as worthy foe- 
man, and no less than truly your better shall 
drive through your hauberk.” 

“I find it hard to believe, sir,” returned 
Richard, frankly. 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


i77 


“ .Wait, then, till we land in the East, and 
you shall see, if I mistake not, as great an 
army as ever was. As for the Turk, boy,— 
he is without count.” 

The Darby troop rode down the road, 
holding together among all who came and 
went, Hugh taking the lead to find a suit¬ 
able spot for their encampment. 

Under a grove of towering oaks, now 
scantily clad in their few remaining russet 
leaves, they came to a row of booths where 
ale, relics, charms against disease and 
wounds, weapons, sweetmeats, and the like 
could be purchased; and they rode slowly 
here in curiosity, although Hugh sharply re¬ 
pulsed those who came out to shriek the 
merits of their wares. 

At the end of this row was a small brown 
tent, marked with curious geometric signs, 
before which, basking in the sun, squatted a 
very lean old man in black, with a skull-cap 
pulled down to his ears, leaving a fringe of 
gray hair visible, and enormous, horn¬ 
rimmed spectacles astride his peaked nose. 


78 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


He looked exceedingly like a solemn, sleepy 
bullfrog on the edge of a pool. At his 
feet on a little stand was a crystal ball, 
and this he was idly tapping with a gilded 
wand. 

As the Darby men came down the high¬ 
way, the old man lifted his head and 
glanced with keen, deep-set black eyes at 
the straight, handsome noble and the stal¬ 
wart soldier with the scar. He arose sud¬ 
denly, as if on a spring, a very tall, exceed¬ 
ingly lean figure, and stepped out toward 
the horsemen. 

‘‘ I would tell your fortune. Sir Richard,” 
he said in a deep, mellow tone, extremely 
surprising from one of his age and thinness, 
and, lifting his wrinkled, aged face, he put 
a hand on the boy’s horse. 

Richard involuntarily reined in, astounded 
at this address from one who had never seen 
him, never thinking that the stranger had 
made it his business to learn his name. 

“Tush!” exclaimed Hugh, impatiently, 
yet also reining in and thereby bringing the 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


79 


whole comx3any to a halt at a respectful dis¬ 
tance. “It is nonsense! Get aside, old 
thin shanks 1 ” 

“ I am a true soothsayer,” declared the old 
man to Richard, by sure instinct seeing that 
the boy was independent of the other. “ Slip 
me from your plenty a gold j)iece, and I will 
forecast your future.” 

“ Tush! ” repeated Willock. 

The soothsayer turned his deep-set eye 
upon Hugh and boldly met his haughty, 
contemptuous glance. 

“ In thy face, sir,” he said, still with his 
eye unfaltering upon him, “ I see greed and 
secret purpose.” 

Hugh reddened under his bronze, and 
anger flashed in his eye. 

“Yet you are a true man,” went on the 
fortune-teller, speaking quietly and with no 
quailing in manner or tone. “ You shall 
return from the crusade with honor, but 
without that which is in thy heart—^gold.” 

“You impudent dog!” flamed Willock, 
but laughing. 


80 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


“ I will give you a gold piece/’ put in 
Richard, calmly, and from his purse he took 
a coin and dropped it into the cup of the old 
man’s ready hand. 

“You were cradled. Sir Richard, under a 
lucky star,” began the soothsayer, instantly, 
“ and fortune awaits thee. You will never 
know treachery from your friends—nay, 
from none who swear you faith. That is 
good fortune—to have true friends. Only a 
true heart can win and hold the true. But— 
patience, young sir. At the king’s elbow 
you shall fight; you shall look upon Jerusa¬ 
lem, but never enter it; and you shall render 
unto England’s present king a service men 
shall tell a thousand years. In the end you 
shall die in Devon where your father died^ 
full of honor and years.” 

Richard flushed with pleasure, and, in 
truth, drank in all this splendid forecast like 
a draught of sweetest wine; for his own 
tongue or dream could have built for him 
nothing nearer the heart’s desire. 

Even Willock seemed impressed. The 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 81 

ironical smile faded from his visage, and his 
fingers strayed toward his purse. 

The old soothsayer noted Hugh’s face and 
moving hand, and he looked at him with a 
twinkle deep in his keen eyes, a smile on his 
seamed, parchment-like face. 

“And you, sir,” he said to Hugh, “ whom 
I have seen many times, you shall likewise 
die in Devon—as rich as a York Jew. How 
like you that? ” 

Willock burst into a good-humored laugh. 

“ You’re a clever old rogue,” he cried, 
flipping him a piece of money. “ Yet if 
your telling be true, I get but exercise for 
my journey, and would better stay scathe¬ 
less in England for my fortune.” 

“ Even so,” returned the soothsayer with 
his wrinkled grin. “ But you are too young 
to stay at home now.” Chuckling, he moved 
back to his tent and squatted again upon his 
haunches. 

“ It’s wonderful! ” exclaimed Richard in 
awe, as he and Hugh started on. “ Do you 
think it can be true? ” 


82 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


“ Nobody can call a soothsayer a liar, 
boy.” 

“ I feel in me, Sir Hugh, the power to do 
great things for the king and right.” 

Hugh did not laugh, but he glanced at the 
boy with a half-sad, half-humorous smile. 
He remembered the days when he had felt 
so, felt that he was destined to be great and 
to do wonderful deeds. He knew it was in 
all youth to dream great dreams and to feel 
that they could help greatly to make the 
world go right. He knew it was well for 
youth to feel so. Yes, he had felt very much 
as Richard was feeling, and here he was at 
middle age and had done nothing save to 
make men say he was brave. 

‘‘ Your conscience must tell you what to 
do, Richard,” he said with real simplicity, 
anxious to say the true thing and yet not 
dull the boy’s gorgeous, flimsy dream. “ You 
are a good lad, good in a way I hardly un¬ 
derstand, and will do right. Doubtless you 
will even see the king close at hand—perhaps 
save his life. Who can say? ” 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


83 


A suitable place for camp was found south 
of the town, on a slight elevation overlooking 
the harbor, among companies of other 
Devon men; and shortly, under Willock’s 
instructions, the Darby crusaders were com¬ 
fortably disposed. 

When camp was made, Richard rode back 
toward the village to tender himself formally 
to the king’s marshal. 

Upon his return to camp he slipped from 
his horse, throwing his rein to Peter, who 
was awaiting him, and strode toward his 
tent. 

Willock, tall and broad, a noble figure in 
his glittering coat of ring-mail, was standing 
by the flagpole, where Richard’s banner 
flashed in the sun, his head bare, and before 
him was a short but exceedingly broad man, 
likewise in steel. 

The two were talking in a friendly way 
and laughing heartily. 

‘‘ Here is the lad, John Halmer, Sir Ed¬ 
ward’s son,” cried Hugh, as Richard ap¬ 
proached. There was pleasure in Hugh’s 


84 


THE YOUJSTG CKUSADER 


rugged, scarred face as he held out his hand 
toward the boy. 

John Halmer, of prodigious chest and 
shoulder, turned a scarlet, merry face upon 
the young baron, and formally acknowl¬ 
edged greeting. 

“An old friend of mine in many countries, 
Richard,” declared Hugh, as he named Sir 
John; “ and now becoming great. He even 
speaks to the king.” 

“ I am come to warn this quarrelsome 
friend of mine. Sir Richard,” said Halmer. 
“ I saw him arrive, and of old I knew him 
to be quick with his sw^ord. This must not 
be now. Times change, and I seem to 
see that the day will come when war is 
rare.” 

Hugh threw back his head and loudly 
laughed at this most absurd statement. War 
now was an honored trade—a gentleman’s 
only trade. 

“ Many are like old women,” he cried; 
“ but there are still men of mettle left. I 
think Richard here would brook few insolent 


THE YOUIS^G CRUSADER 85 

words from any man—though he wore a 
crown.” 

Richard laughed, but his eye flashed. 

“ You were always somewhat of a brawler, 
Hugh, in camp,” asserted Sir John, bluntly; 
“ and, as I say, times have changed—whether 
we like it or not. You must take my service 
in good part. Six men sail not from Dart¬ 
mouth, who but for quarrels would have 
shared in the glory of this godly mission. 
Let me tell you the king’s pleasure.” The 
jolly-looking knight drew from his belt and 
gravely read the army rules as to brawling: 

‘‘ Richard, by the grace of God, King of 
England, Duke of Normandy and Aqui¬ 
taine, and Count of Anjou,to all his men who 
are about to journey to Jerusalem by sea— 
Health. Know that with the common coun¬ 
sel of approved men we have had the follow¬ 
ing regulations drawn up. Whoever board 
ship shall slay another is himself to be cast 
into the sea lashed to the dead man; if he 
shall have slain him ashore he is to be buried 
in the same way. If any one be proved by 
worthy witnesses to have drawn a knife for 
the purpose of striking another, or to have 




86 


THE YOUISTG CKUSADER 


wounded another so as to draw blood, let him 
lose his fist; but if he strike another with his 
hand and draw no blood, let him be dipped 
three times in the sea. If any one cast any 
reproach or bad word against another, or 
invoke God’s malison on him, let him for 
every offense pay an ounce of silver. Let a 
convicted thief be shorn like a prize-fighter; 
after which let boiling pitch be poured on his 
head and a feather pillow be shaken over it 
so as to make him a laughing-stock. Then 
let him be put ashore at the first land where 
the ships touch. Witness myself at 
Chinon. 

“ There! ” exclaimed Sir John, breathing 
hard with his reading. 

“ Phew! ” ejaculated Hugh Willock with 
a contemptuous grin. “ Shall a man then 
swallow hot words? ” 

Halmer laughed. ‘‘ I tell you, man, the 
camp is strict. Never saw I such a one.” 

“ Will you dine with us, sir? ” asked Rich¬ 
ard in his quiet, smooth tones. 

“ I cannot, thank you,” returned the stout 
man. “ I am engaged to Mercado, who ar¬ 
rived this morning.” 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


87, 


“ When do you think we sail? ” inquired 
Hugh, with a quick glance of warning at 
Richard. 

“ I think in a few days. But I under¬ 
stand the king is not to go, but will go to 
Tours, where will be the main force of our 
army, and board our fleet at Marseilles.” 

“ Sir Richard greatly desires to see him.” 

“No doubt.” Sir John coughed, for 
most men wanted to see the king. 

“ I myself,” said Willock, with a gidn, 
“ am content to see from a distance. As you 
know, I served his brother, John.” 

“ A rascal! ” whispered Halmer, explo¬ 
sively. 

Hugh nodded. 

“ I must be going.” Sir John looked em¬ 
barrassed for a moment because of his indis¬ 
creet exclamation before one almost a 
stranger, and, bowing, he strutted down the 
incline, mounted his horse clumsily, and rode 
away. 

“ A good man, Richard,” commented 
Hugh, “ but a little timorous. Yet he 


88 THE YOUNG CKUSADER 

climbs! But it is dinner time.” He sniffed 
audibly as he caught the fragrance of the 
cookery in the camp, and made his way to¬ 
ward the tent where he and Richard were 
to have their meals. 

With a smile at the stout horseman disap¬ 
pearing in the press down the highway, Rich¬ 
ard turned and followed Willock. 

The rest of this day among the bustling, 
merry crowd of soldiers, lords, jugglers, 
chained gangs of men from the war-galleys, 
loutish, rolling fellows from the ships, fisher¬ 
men, and peddlers passed with Richard like 
a feverish dream. The sight of this assem¬ 
blage and the stir and pomp fired his burn¬ 
ing enthusiasm still higher. Greedy for 
knowledge, he took his way, everywhere. 
Although he bore himself sedately and 
showed his feeling not at all, save for the 
luster of his eye and the flush of his hand¬ 
some face, yet within he was as dazed and 
dazzled as a country lout on his first visit to 
a fair. Hugh, understanding his feeling, 
was very patient, and was as glad to give in- 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


89 


formation about arms and deportment as 
Richard was eager to receive. He knew 
many of the leading men of this gathering, 
most of whom were soldiers like himself who 
had fought in a dozen countries, and he 
pointed them out and told their deeds of 
heroism and savagery, or both. 

When Richard threw himself down upon 
his couch in the late evening, he was very 
tired, and yet found sleep elusive—as diffi¬ 
cult to catch and hold as a swift-moving 
shadow. His brain was afire and alive, and 
a fantastic jumble and merging of all he had 
seen during the day marched endlessly before 
his mind’s eye. At length, however, he did 
fall asleep, to toss fitfully in splendid dreams. 

The sweet, strong breeze from the sea 
crept over the hillside, and the Darby banner 
fluttered before the young baron’s tent. The 
moon rose in the east, and the night shadows 
shortened as it climbed up high and higher 
among the glittering April stars. 

Peter, who slept in the rear of the pavilion, 
snored heavily and peacefully, and Richard 



90 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


now lay motionless in the deep and victorious 
slumber of youth. 

A shadow in the shadow of the tent—black 
against black—moved toward the entrance, 
and at length a man squirmed across a 
dreaded ribbon of moonlight at the opening 
and then was within the tent and moving 
serpent-like toward Richard’s couch. 

The intruder, holding his breath, reached 
the lad and leaned over him. He gasped 
slightly, for as he stood there he caught the 
glisten of the hilt of the Lisbon sword. 
Cautiously he leaned farther over and out¬ 
stretched his hand, joy warming in his heart. 

At this moment, as if fortune whispered 
warning in his ear, Richard awoke, glimpsed 
the face above him, and, with a fierce, low 
cry, reached up his arms and encircled the 
thief with a terrible grip. 

The intruder wildly cursed, but Richard, 
aroused, fought like a tiger and twisted the 
creeper over. In an instant he had him on 
the turf, his young fingers like rivets on his 
gnarled throat. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


91 


“A light! ” cried Richard, as he heard 
Peter cry out in fright and stumble about in 
the darkness. 

Peter made such haste as he could, and 
soon held the camp lamp down near the man 
Richard was still holding. It took but a 
very short time for the two lads to bind the 
fellow. 

The thief was a stout man of thirty, with 
a fierce but intelligent face. He bore no 
weapon but a dagger, and was dressed as a 
serf, yet was clearly a soldier. 

“ Your name? ” demanded Richard, 
sternly. 

“ Staye, of London.” 

“ A soldier? ” 

‘‘ Yes.” 

“ You know the law, Staye? ” asked Rich¬ 
ard at length. 

The thief grunted. He knew it well. 

“ Why did you come here? ” 

“ Your sword, sir.” 

‘‘ My sword? ” 

“Yes. It is given out that you have a 


92 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


sword which shall save the king of England 
and carve the way to fortune.” 

“ Oh! ” exclaimed Richard, angrily. The 
old soothsayer evidently had been making 
him a marked man. “ Do you think the 
sword I hold will carve fortune for any 
man? ” 

“ I so understood.” 

“You are wrong. You have well earned 
a shaved pate and hot pitch.” Richard 
looked down upon him sternly, yet was sorry 
for him. “ Suppose,” he said, suddenly, “ I 
let you go—forgive? ” 

The man looked at him incredulously, but 
with hope in his eyes. He was not used to 
seeing mercy, and did not expect it. 

“ You will do as you see fit, sir.” Un¬ 
knowingly wise, or wholly resigned, he made 
no plea for mercy. 

“ Cut him free, Peter.” 

“ But, Sir Richard,” began Peter in re¬ 
monstrance, for his anger at the man was 
high, and his code knew little mercy to any 
below those he served. 


93 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 

“ Cut him free! ” commanded Richard. 

Peter reluctantly obeyed; and, believing 
he dreamed, Staye arose, standing straight 
before the young baron. 

“ What service, sir? ” inquired the thief, 
never for a moment doubting that he must 
render value for mercy. 

“ Service, rascal? None. It is my mood. 
Get away! ” 

Staye stared at him speechless, a peculiar 
look coming to his fierce visage. He must 
be dreaming. Never was anything like this 
where he had soldiered. 

“ Get away! ” repeated Richard, with a 
slight smile. 

With a last searching look at the lord who 
forgave, the rascal slipped from the tent and 
was gone. 

• _ 

“ Huh! ” snorted Peter, openly, yet even 
then dimly remembering that his master had 
saved him from more than one merited pun¬ 
ishment. ‘‘ Shall I watch, sir,—for my 
sins? ” he asked, at length. 

“ No, Peter,” answered Richard, lightly. 


94 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


‘‘ Neither for mine. I would not have you 
overworked. He will not return. We will 
sleep.” 

Placing his undrawn sword beneath a 
blanket, Richard went back to his couch, and, 
little thinking that his mercy was to bear 
rich fruit, returned quickly to the land of 
slumber. 


CHAPTER V 


R ichard made no mention of the 
midnight adventure to Hugh Wil- 
lock, of whose views he had no 
doubt; and he laid upon Peter a strict in¬ 
junction to secrecy. Although he had no 
regret for his action, yet he looked upon it 
as boyish, and was quite conscious that his 
friend and most men would so regard it. 
He was young enough to value very much 
men’s weighing of his acts, although willing 
to brave strife and ridicule for what he be¬ 
lieved to be right. 

The morning was bright and clear, warm, 
yet bracing with the cool and the tang of the 
sea. Overhead the sky was sapphire, with 
flecks of fleece; behind lay the rugged, 
wooded hills, and before, the Channel glit¬ 
tered and flashed in the sunlight like a vast 
coat of chain-mail. The southwest breeze 

blew its promise of spring over all the hope- 

95 


96 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


ful, greening land; and the winged song¬ 
sters chorused in an untaught and matchless 
harmony. 

Richard before his pavilion again drank 
in the camp with his eyes, now awake and 
bustling, and breathed happily in the un¬ 
thinking joy of living. He was steady now, 
grown a man; but, for all his poise, the blood 
still ran exuberant in his veins at what he 
saw. 

At breakfast he talked of the crusade and 
of his promise to Sir Hubert Grant, and 
Hugh noted with satisfaction that his fever 
of delight had died away to steadiness, in no 
way lessening enthusiasm. 

“ I will speak to Hazri of our numbers,” 
said Hugh; and turning to the Saracen, who 
stood near for his bidding, he spoke rapidly 
in the dark man’s native tongue, 

Hazri cast a disdainful eye down the hill 
and over such part of the camp as was visible 
from their position. His thin lips curved 
slightly, and his dark, unsearchable eyes 
twinkled like very distant stars. Tongue- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


97 


less, he made response by pointing upward 
to a small white cloud above them. 

“As a mite in the desert,” explained 
Hugh. “ So are we against the Moslem. 
So I told you. See yon cloud. Follow it 
with the eye, boy. It dissolves—now it 
breaks—and soon it will be quite gone.” 

“ I care not for numbers,” asserted Rich¬ 
ard. “ It is the spirit that wins all things. 
Is it not that which gives men success? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Hugh, promptly, very 
much pleased. “ I myself have vanquished 
four at a time.” 

After breakfast Richard sent Peter for 
his horse, and, leaving his faithful vassal 
behind, rode southward among the hills, 
minded to be alone. 

He rode slowly, with the sparkling sea 
below him, and, entering the forests, soon 
left the camp behind. 

Reaching the top of the hill, he dismounted 
and picked his way to the left through the 
wood till at length he came to a point from 
which he could look down upon the sea. 



98 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


Here he sat down. He wanted to be apart 
for a while, to dream and to consecrate him¬ 
self anew, silently, to the cause for which he 
was to leave England. He was happy, and 
his heart swelled within him in high purpose 
and zeal. He sat with his hands crossed 
over his knees, with his eyes intent upon the 
water, but seeing nothing that other men 
could see. He had set off upon the ground 
his conical steel cap with its hanging meshes 
to cover neck and ears, and the wind blew 
gently in his face and through his hair. 

His being was full of song, and there alone 
he impulsively lifted his young voice in one 
of the tuneful, swinging war-songs he had 
known since he was very small. He was 
gifted with a mellow baritone, clear as a bird 
note, and he sang with the spirit of youth. 
One song after another he poured out, his 
sweet, virile tones ringing in the wood and 
over the hilltop. 

Although he knew it not, he was singing 
a song that would echo down many and many 
a century. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


99 


His fine voice carried through the wood to 
the road, where several men on horseback 
were going north at a walk. 

The huge, long-legged, handsome man in 
the lead reined in as the boy’s song came, 
and listened with a pleased smile. 

“A strange Devon bird,” he said. He 
turned to the man nearest him, a thin soldier 
with the face of an eagle. “ Sir Thomas, 
find me this bird. Disturb it not at all, but 
see it.” 

The thin man slipped from his saddle, and, 
with a stealth natural to him, went into the 
woods. He returned to the party in the 
road, bowed to the big man, and mounted his 
horse. 

Without words the men moved off and 
away, and Richard, all unconscious that a 
man had stood behind and looked at him 
searchingly, sang on until, by a sensation 
unmistakable, he knew it was time to get 
back to the dining-table. 

Arising, he led his horse through the 
woods. He mounted in the road, and, with 


100 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


head thrown back, his eyes shining, went 
back into the Dartmouth camp and to his 
own company. 

“We sail in two days!” cried Willock, 
meeting him, and his face glowed. “And, 
boy, the king is in Dartmouth—aye, Rich¬ 
ard himself. I saw him—from afar. It 
was from Halmer I had word of the sail¬ 
ing.” 

“In two days!” repeated Richard, joy¬ 
ously, as he leaped to the ground. “ Good! 
I shall be glad when we are on the way. 
Now, Goodwill,” he exclaimed, touching 
almost reverently the hilt of his sword, to 
which he had given this queer name—as 
some of later days may think it, considering 
the purpose for which it was designed,— 
“ you shall have work for the glory of the 
Lord!” 

“ We will eat now,” said Hugh with a 
slight grin. He was not surprised that 
Richard had named his sword, for many war¬ 
riors of the day christened their blades and 
spoke of them and addressed them as per- 



THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


101 


sons; but, callous and greedy, the boy’s zeal 
amused him. He had no doubt that before 
many months the young baron would lose 
much of his idealism. 

The news of the near sailing had gone 
all through the camp, and the Darby men 
were agog with excitement, even then 
making preparations to strike camp in a 
hurry. 

After the midday meal Richard and Wil- 
lock retired to the main pavilion and sat to¬ 
gether in the shade, looking down upon the 
moving, glittering throng, which seemed 
animated with a great excitement, and talk¬ 
ing of the great times to come. 

They saw Sir John Halmer and a tail, 
slight man riding toward their camp. The 
riders turned from the road without pausing 
and came slowly toward Richard’s tent. Sir 
John and the other man dismounted, and 
Richard and Hugh went forward to meet 
them. 

Sir John was jolly as usual, his broad, 
red face shining, and he hailed the two 


102 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


friends in very hearty fashion and made 
known his companion—Sir Thomas Law, a 
slender man with a hooked nose and a fierce, 
unblinking eye. 

Sir Thomas looked Richard over keenly 
and curiously as he acknowledged his cour¬ 
teous welcome and the honor of his acquaint¬ 
ance. He turned to Halmer and nodded 
slightly, glancing at Willock, who saw at 
once that something out of the ordinary was 
in this visit. 

“ Your young friend, Willock,” said 
jovial Sir John, “ was born under a lucky 
planet.” 

“ Yes,” responded Hugh, calmly, study¬ 
ing the two visitors. 

“ If I remember aright, you stated to me, 
Willock, that this young man would fain 
look upon his overlord and liege, Richard, 
the king of England.” Sir John addressed 
himself to Hugh, but turned his red and 
smiling face upon the straight, handsome 
youth. 

Richard returned his smile, and felt the 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 103 

blood leap in his veins. What could this 
man mean? 

“ Y"es,” returned Hugh. A queer look of 
pride shone on his scarred, bronzed visage, 
for, although the age of miracles had passed, 
as he believed, he caught a glimmer of what 
might be in this coming of the two knights 
who served near the king. 

“ It is queer,” said Halmer, “ yet not 
queer, but His Majesty has a desire to see 
this young lord from the hills.” 

Richard gasped, and stared with parted 
lips. His cheeks flushed, and his eyes shone 
with awed joy. 

Willock, for his part, compressed his lips, 
uttered a short laugh, then touched his young 
friend on the arm in affection. 

“ The king wishes to see— me! ” stam¬ 
mered Richard, his voice seeming to him to 
come from a great distance. 

“ Yes,” put in Sir Thomas Law in a sharp 
tone, like the click of steel against steel. 

“ Yes,” said Halmer in his hearty way. 
‘‘We bear Richard’s invitation to you, 



104 THE YOUNH CKUSADER 

Baron, to repair to his pavilion immedi¬ 
ately.” 

“Peter!” cried Willoek, turning and 
clapping his hands. “ Bring Sir Richard’s 
horse.” 

“ I thank you, gentlemen,” said Richard 
in an uneven voice. 

“ Go at once,” suggested Hugh, touching 
him on the elbow. 

As in a dream, Richard passed into his 
pavilion, and, scarcely knowing what he did, 
buckled on Goodwill and set on his ring- 
mail hood and steel cap, then reappeared be¬ 
fore the waiting men. 

Peter came at the same moment before 
the tent with his beautiful bay, and, with 
staring eyes, stood near by, holding the 
bridle-rein. 

Sir Thomas Law looked the boy over 
keenly, reluctant admiration in his eye, and, 
with a nod to Halmer, mounted his charger. 

Richard lightly gained his saddle, and, 
glancing at Hugh, who was watching him 
gravely, joined the two knights and with 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


105 


them rode down to the highway and north¬ 
ward among the motley, excited press toward 
the king’s quarters. 

The king’s pavilion alone on a hill, above 
the real town, was in plain view as they left 
the road, the royal banners before it waving 
in the sunshine, and Richard could see from 
afar a solitary sitting figure which he knew 
must be the king himself. 

As they approached the tent, Richard, in 
impulsive devotion, slipped from his horse 
and, running forward, prostrated himself 
before his lord. 

Richard of Aquitaine and of Anjou, now 
king of England, smiled slightly, but with 
a softened eye, as he looked upon the boy 
baron of Darby. This impulsive reverence 
to him was not the act of a courtier; it was 
the genuine obeisance to royalty and to the 
king’s person, and Richard, reading the lad 
aright, was mightily pleased. 

‘‘ Stand, sir,” he said in his mellow, com¬ 
manding voice. 

And the boy of Darby, obeying instantly. 


106 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


arose and looked unafraid upon his king, red 
in his dark cheeks, his eyes alight with devo¬ 
tion. He had heard all his life of this royal 
prince, whose days had been spent mostly 
in battle since he was born in Beaumont 
Castle in Oxford; and now he saw him. 

King Richard fulfilled all his expectations, 
and was even as he had dreamed him. 

Richard was now a man in the thirties, not 
in the best of health then or ever from this 
time, but vigorous, magnetic, and indomi¬ 
table. He was tall above the average, great 
in chest and shoulder, and very straight and 
shapely. His face was bold and king-like, 
his head leonine; and his eye could be as soft 
as a woman’s or as hard as steel. His curly 
Hair, cropped close at the forehead, bordered 
closely on red. His arms were very long, 
and he possessed physical strength far above 
that of most men. 

As he stood there this day in the April 
sun, bareheaded, but girt in his glittering 
hauberk, he was a figure to excite awe and 
devotion. At his feet lay an axe with a 


THE YOUNa CKUSADER 


lOT 


prodigious steel head, too heavy for most 
men to wield, but terrible in his mighty 
grasp. This was a curious weapon then, for 
it was practically unknown to the warfare 
of this day in Europe, although he himself 
used it for years. 

“You sing, boy? ” said Richard in his 
quiet way, for with all his fierceness in battle 
or in anger he was ordinarily gentle of 
speech, courteous and considerate. 

“ Sire, yes.” 

“ Then sing me the song of the Darby 
sword you were roaring in the hills yesterday 
when you thought yourself unheard,” said 
the smiling king. 

Richard stared at His Majesty’s feet. He 
was overwhelmed by this startling and unex¬ 
pected command. It was in his mind to 
obey, and he tried; but his tongue was as dry 
as a fallen leaf of autumn, and it was im¬ 
possible for him to utter a note. He turned 
alternately hot and cold. A terrible fear 
flashed through him that he might find him¬ 
self thus in battle. 


108 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


Sir John Halmer looked grave, and was 
uneasy for him, actually squirming; but the 
thin man with the fierce visage smiled slightly 
as if he were not displeased at the boy’s 
failure. 

The great prince, however, smiled kindly. 
This dumbness was genuine flattery to him; 
and while, proud lord as he was, he dis¬ 
liked men to truckle to him, it made him 
patient. 

“ Did it not go something like this? ” he 
asked; and with fair accuracy he hummed a 
strain of the inspiring martial air that had 
so delighted him on the preceding day. 

Richard nodded quickly, and huskily said, 
“ Yes, sire, much so.” Then once more he 
made essay to force music from his nervous 
throat, but still was unable to command his 
voice. ‘‘ I am sorry. Your Majesty,” he 
said, raising his eyes, “ hut I promise you I 
shall not so fail you when I hear your com¬ 
mand to draw steel—God willing. I am 
more fit for war than the court.” 

Richard was still patient, and he had a 


THE YOUNa CEUSADER 


109 


genius for winning to himself loyalty of-both 
men and women. Few princes who ever 
lived had a greater gift of attracting men to 
his person and holding them faithful. He 
made no reference further to singing, but 
tactfully spoke of warfare and drew the lad 
out, learning much about him. 

“ Surely, young sir,” he said at length, - 
“ you will try again to please me with your 
song.” 

“ I would rather serve you, sire, with the 
sword, but I would serve you zealously ac¬ 
cording to your desire.” Without waiting 
for further request,—an eager, simple com¬ 
plaisance that immensely pleased Richard,— 
he threw back his shoulders, and, with his 
shining eyes upon the sunny hills, poured 
forth the pulse-stirring sword-song in a glo¬ 
rious, throbbing voice. 

The king looked at him fixedly as the 
rough song rolled forth, and his face shone 
with growing great delight. 

“ Excellent! ” he said quickly, when Rich¬ 
ard was done, in a tone that made the boy 


110 


THE YOUNG CEUSADEE 


thrill with joy. “ Sing again, boy, if I ask 
not too much.” 

So once more Richard sang, now confi¬ 
dent, and he sang himself into the king’s 
proud heart and into the scroll of undying 
romance. 

In the end His Majesty graciously praised 
him, not with stint, but in the royal manner 
that was one of his fine traits; and Halmer 
and Law, following his lead, also said pleas¬ 
ant things to him, the former with real pleas¬ 
ure at his success, the latter with tactful 
ease. 

“ Y^ou may go, gentlemen.” Richard 
nodded to his two knights. “ But you, boy— 
remain. I would have word with you.” 

Sir John and Law retired at once, and 
Richard remained at respectful attention be¬ 
fore the great king. 

“ I shall not guerdon you, boy—yet,” said 
Richard. 

“ Sire,” responded the young baron, “ you 
have already given me the gift of your 
praise. I would have nothing else.” 




He POaRRD FORTH THE PULSE-STIRRING SWORD SONG.—Pttgre 109 







THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


111 


For a moment Richard frowned slightly, 
and then his face was rugged and lion-like; 
but in the next instant he smiled. He knew 
men, and this boy was speaking from the 
heart. 

“ Save one thing,” added Richard, quickly. 

The king looked up, an ominous flash in 
his eye. He was willing to give, for he was 
free-handed all his life; but he disliked to 
believe he had erred in judgment. 

Richard saw his displeasure, and, although 
he felt a cold chill run through him, he met 
his lord’s eye bravely. 

“And that one thing, boy? A ring? A 
sum of money? A command? ” 

“ No, sire,” returned Richard, soberly. 
“ No, sire,—none of those; only that which 
will please you as much as me.” 

“ Tell me this thing quickly,” commanded 
the king with a little puzzled laugh. 

“ I ask a full pardon and reinstatement for 
Sir Hubert Grant, of Grantham, who is now 
declared rebel against your crown, but who 
is faithful.” In terse phrase Richard told 


112 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


his story of Sir Hubert, but even before the 
end he saw his words were unavailing. 

“ I know him not, boy,” said the king, 
calmly, but in a way that precluded further 
words. “ If I did meet a man who was once 
Sir Hubert Grant, up should he go on a 
gallows forthwith.” Richard's eyes shot fire, 
and anger was in his tone. “ Ask me, boy, 
for anything else,” he added, kindly. 

“ I have no other thing to ask, sire,” re¬ 
turned the boy, shaking his head. He was 
keenly disappointed, but instinctively knew 
that he could do nothing, and that Sir 
Hubert’s fortune was beyond repair. 

“ Boy,” said the king, “ would it please 
you to be with your king to balm him with 
your sweet voice? You shall even be 
at my elbow from this hour. Speak your 
mind.” 

Richard drew his tall form erect, and in¬ 
voluntarily put his hand upon his sword. 
“ Oh, sire,” he cried. 

“ I would have you willing, sir—not other¬ 
wise.” 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


113 


“ I wish to fight for you, Your Majesty— 
to be a good soldier.” 

“Yet I ask a great service. And I say 
that if you can fight as well as you can sing, 
you shall see fight enough for any man—if 
you keep by your king’s elbow. Do as your 
heart bids. I lay no command upon you.” 

The king could not have evoked devotion 
more surely from Richard of Darby. The 
boy’s eyes filled with tears, and, choking, he 
dropped upon his knees. 

“ Oh, sire! ” he said, quaveringly, kissing 
the royal hand graciously extended by the 
monarch who truly read and valued this pure 
fealty, “ I will do even as you wish, gladly 
and with all my heart till I lay me down in 
death. Y^et, Hugh, dear Hugh Willock, 
and my men from Darby! ” 

“ They shall all serve close to the king, 
boy,” promised Richard, quickly; “ for they 
must have in some way a touch of thee, and I 
would have such men near at hand. Aye, 
Hugh and all the rest shall sail with me. 
Arise! ” 


114 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


When Richard was on his feet, the king 
kindly gave him instructions as to the dis¬ 
position of his following and as to his re¬ 
moval from his present quarters to the royal 
camp. 

After a time the king dismissed his new 
minstrel, and the young baron, mounting his 
horse, rode slowly homeward, oblivious of 
those among whom he passed. 

Hugh Willock was both delighted and dis¬ 
appointed with the news; but his delight at 
length so outweighed disappointment that he 
was almost as happy as faithful Peter. 

Although no one could say who told, the 
tale of Richard’s appointment to the king 
was known throughout Dartmouth in an 
hour, spreading as if on the wings of light; 
and so likewise went among the crusaders 
the telling of the minstrel’s fortune but two 
days before, which brought the lean old 
soothsayer such a shower of gold as he had 
never before seen. 


CHAPTER VI 


A FEW days after Easter the crusad¬ 
ers in Dartmouth embarked in the 
waiting vessels and sailed away, and 
Richard of Devon, with Hugh Willock and 
his stout seventy from the hills of Darby, re¬ 
mained with the king. 

Richard and Hugh sat alone in the hills 
that day, very silent, watching the sails glim¬ 
mer in the sun, grow small like flecks of foam 
in the sparkle of the sea, and then drop below 
the horizon and disappear. 

“ They’re gone,” said Richard, very sober, 
his eyes fixed upon the spot where the last 
ship had gone from sight. 

“ And so we also shall soon depart,” re¬ 
turned Hugh, cheerily. “ Yonder fleet will 
gain nothing, except to be continually tossed 
on the sea while we are on dry land, for it 
was said—and you have it truly from the 

king—we shall all meet in Marseilles.” 

115 


116 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


“ That’s so, Hugh, but, even knowing 
that, it is hard to sit still.” 

Willock laughed and arose. 

“We would best return,” he said. “ As 
for sitting still,” he went on, “ think not that 
while you serve Richard’s person you will 
grow fat with tarrying as a sword grows 
rusty upon the wall. His Majesty is much 
like his father, Henry, who was so tireless 
and so active that often he would scorn to sit 
even for his meals.” 

Without response Richard got to his feet 
and stood beside his stalwart friend. 

“ It is a great boon to be near our king,” 
he said, his eyes shining. 

“ He is a true fighter,” remarked Hugh. 
“ There is no man better. You will be 
proud to see him in battle.” 

Richard breathed deeply, his handsome, 
deep-tanned face rapt with visions of the 
winning of glory. 

“Yes, it is a boon to be near the king,” 
said Hugh. He cast a quick look about the 
hillside to make sure no one had come within 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 117 

range of their voices. They were quite 
alone, save for Peter and Hazri, who were 
several rods distant, tending the horses. 
“ Be careful, boy,” he warned. “ Mercado 
and Thomas Law hate you with bitterness.” 

“ I have no fear of them, Hugh. I have 
not crossed them or done them wrong.” 

“ But that makes no difference,” re¬ 
sponded Hugh, with a little laugh. “ They 
hate you for the one reason that the king 
loves you.” 

“ I fear them not at all! ” exclaimed Rich¬ 
ard, proudly. 

‘‘Yet, watch. But let us go. I have 
work before me to drill those men from 
Darby, who, I swear, boy, will make your 
heart glad when they meet the Saracen.” 

They walked back to their horses, and, 
mounting, rode down into Dartmouth, Peter 
and the Oriental following. 

After the bustle and stir the town seemed 
very quiet and lonesome indeed, and the two 
friends were eager to be off and away. 

Their patience was not to be tried by 


118 


THE YOUNG CEUSAHEB 


lingering in Dartmouth, however, for the 
king was eager and restless. Upon return¬ 
ing to their quarters, which lay near the 
king’s own gorgeous pavilion, with its hang¬ 
ings of crimson silk and gold cloths and its 
fluttering banners, they met jolly John Hal- 
mer, who gave them greeting and told that 
the king had already given orders to strike 
camp on the following morning. 

Richard and Hugh were overjoyed, but 
before they left the Devon port the young 
baron was to taste the bitter part of success, 
and to see that Willock had spoken wise 
words of warning on the hill that afternoon. 

Now in high favor with the king, Richard 
ate at the royal table with the officers who 
served his royal person; and, inexperienced 
as he was, he could not fail to see that a few 
of His Majesty’s friends jealously resented 
his presence. No word was spoken against 
him, no insult was given him, for the king, 
although not demonstrative in public, had 
markedly shown a strong attraction for the 
young noble, and would have brooked no 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


119 


obvious effort to discredit him; but enmity 
was present, waiting a chance to strike a 
blow. 

Sir Godfrey Mercado, the man who had 
swept Grantham, was a sturdy soldier of 
fifty, stern of face, brave, but corrupt and 
evil in the ways of the world. He had no 
personal feeling either for or against the 
young singer of Devon, but when Richard 
entered and took his position near the king 
he favored him with a quick and covert 
glance. 

“ The fief of Darby lies near Grantham, 
young Sir Richard, does it not? ” asked the 
king, suddenly, breaking in upon the sub¬ 
dued conversation of his gentlemen. He 
turned toward Richard and fixed his eye 
upon him. 

“ Yes, sire, immediately next to it.” 
Richard showed his surprise at this abrupt, 
strange question, and cast a quick glance 
about. 

Absolute silence reigned at the tables, save 
for the clink of the silver vessels and knives. 


120 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


From a tent a few feet away the king's 
harper thrummed gently on his instrument, 
the soft melody clear as a bell and sweet as 
rippling water. 

The king took up a morsel of meat in his 
fingers and ate it, his eyes lowered. There 
was a little smile on his lips, but no one could 
note it. 

“ Sir Godfrey Mercado so stated,” he as¬ 
serted at length, looking up, his face emo¬ 
tionless. “ He has quested vainly through 
the Grantham hills for a certain rebel, and he 
believes that your men of Darby, who must 
be familiar with the country, could under his 
orders bring him success and do a great serv¬ 
ice to his beloved sovereign.” 

Richard was glad he had named the man 
who had suggested this loan of his Darby 
men; but, while hot anger surged through 
him and flushed his dark face, he did not 
guess that Thomas Law had overheard his 
request to pardon Sir Hubert, and that this 
was a plan laid to make him rouse the king’s 
terrible anger and cause him to lose his favor. 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


121 


if not his very head. Neither Law nor 
Mercado dreamed that the proud young lord 
of Darby would grant his men for such a 
service. 

“Yes, sire,” said Richard, trembling with 
a righteous anger. At this moment his de¬ 
votion to the great king was about to burst 
like a bubble, for he believed the king, re¬ 
gardless of his feelings or honor, was about 
to ask an ignoble thing. 

“ Sir Godfrey,” stated His Majesty, 
calmly, knowing well that malice against the 
boy was at work, “ may ask you to lend him 
your good men-at-arms.” 

Richard looked boldly at the king. He 
was no fool, and, although not used to sub¬ 
tleties, realized that the king was in this way 
making it clear that he himself was not ask¬ 
ing and that the idea was not his. He turned 
to Mercado. 

Sir Godfrey met his fiery eye with a cruel, 
cool smile. The boy was nothing to him. 
He had made the request to please Law, and 
because he desired greatly to capture Sir 


122 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


Hubert himself. His only animus against 
the Darby baron was that the boy was ask¬ 
ing pardon for Sir Hubert and might get it. 

“What say you, sir?” he asked across 
the table in his harsh voice, seeing that the 
king was not minded to speak further just 
then. “ It will be a true service to my lord 
the king.” 

“ I shall be glad to serve the king at any 
time in any way. Sir Godfrey,” returned 
Richard, calmly. 

“ Then I am to understand that your men 
will serve me as I desire—at your request 
and the king’s command? ” 

“ Sir, you understand me perfectly,” an¬ 
swered the boy, serenely. He held his head 
high and smiled into the other’s fierce, 
weather-beaten visage. He was not dis¬ 
turbed, for he knew his Darby men, and 
knew that Sir Godfrey would fare no better 
with them than he had before—^not on a 
hunt for a friend to Darby. “ All that I 
have,” he added, “ is at the service of my 
king, now or at any time.” 




THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


123 


“ I thank you,” said Mercado, and bent 
angry eyes down upon the table. He was 
baffled, defeated, by this green boy who sang 
like an angel, this boy almost as big as the 
king, and with a fearless eye; and he did not 
like it, for the smiles of those about the table 
were as thongs to his pride. 

In the evening under the stars Richard 
was with the king, and, accompanied by the 
harp, sang many of the old home songs. 

The king thanked him for his words at 
the table, and in a roundabout way, but 
plainly enough, promised that Sir Mercado 
would never lead Darby men into Grantham. 
He told him, also, that as his monarch’s 
friend he must be prepared to meet jealousy, 
and taught him many things he ought to 
know. 

“ You have a quick wit, boy,” he said, 
“ and will get along well—even though I 
have love for you. You are honest, and 
that is shield and sword—^better than all wit 
and guile. Keep you so.” 

“ Your Majesty, I have sworn to keep the 



124 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


faith and to be true and pure. All men do 
who go upon the crusade.” 

“ Yes,” answered the king, “ but all do 
not keep their vows.” He shrugged his 
broad shoulders. He was conscious that he 
had been cruel and hasty and sinful, but he 
honored good; he loved the boy for his sim¬ 
plicity, and hoped that he would never grow 
corrupt. “ Now, lad,” he said, “ go to that 
stout Hugh Willock who served under my 
father and tell him that to-morrow we start 
for London.” 

Richard bowed low and left the pavilion 
and returned to his quarters to find Hugh 
waiting for him. 

Through Sir John Halmer, Hugh had 
learned of the scene at the royal tables, and 
he complimented Richard on his words and 
bearing. 

“ It may have been a scheme,” he said, 
shrewdly, with a round oath. “ Some one 
may have overheard you asking the king’s 
pardon for Grant. I doubt not it was so. 
Halmer and Law had just left you, you told 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


125 


me, and perhaps Law did not go too far. 
He has a keen ear.” Hugh threw back his 
great head and laughed heartily. “ But you 
parried the thrust right well.” His face 
hardened quickly, and his bright eyes flashed, 
for inwardly he was resolving that if chance 
offered he would put steel through the vi¬ 
cious, jealous noble who dared to move 
against his old friend’s son. 

In the morning King Richard struck 
camp, and with his officers and personal fol¬ 
lowing, now augmented by Richard of 
Devon and his men, left the town of Dart¬ 
mouth and began the memorable return to 
London. 

During this journey Richard was near the 
king much of the time, and the king made 
no effort to conceal his growing regard for 
him. 

London was a revelation to Richard, and 
he marveled at the vast number of people 
who lived in so small a compass. The 
magnificence of the court caused him great 
wonder, too, but, while he comported him- 


126 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


self easily, he loved the hills and forests and 
open country more. 

The city was bustling with preparations 
for the king’s departure to carry war against 
the enemies of Christendom; everywhere 
were swarms of soldiers and nobles from all 
parts of England. But Richard, so zealous 
himself, was surprised and disappointed to 
see that most men plainly looked upon the 
war as an opportunity to gain power and 
fortune. Yet he knew Richard, the king, 
was moved with a religious zeal like his own, 
and that his heart was truly set upon driving 
the Moslem host from the sacred city for¬ 
ever. 

In June of 1190 all was ready, and the 
king of England, with his following of lords 
in their silks and trappings of gold and 
silver, set off across the straits and landed in 
Calais. 

From that city the king proceeded to 
Tours, where was assembled a vast gathering 
of crusaders and pilgrims, and here the king 
of England formally received from the arch- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


127 


bishop his pilgrim’s staff and wallet and two 
banners with gold crosses to carry to Pales¬ 
tine. 

Moving on at length from Tours, the 
great host, glittering in bright armor, gay in 
silks and with many streaming banners, 
entered Vezelay, where Richard met Philip 
of France, to whom he was vassal, making a 
compact to share equally with him in all their 
conquests in the Holy War. 

The magnificent army now by steady 
marches went on to Lyons, and there divided 
to take ship for the East at different ports. 

Richard of England, with his minstrel and 
Willock and other trusted men and many 
English men-at-arms, including the seventy 
from Darby, set off for Marseilles, with the 
expectation of joining his main army on the 
fleet that had sailed in April from Dart¬ 
mouth and other ports in England, Erittany, 
Normandy, and Poitou. 

Day by day went by in the southern city, 
and there was no news of the ships. The 
king began to get exceedingly impatient, for. 


128 


THE YOUNG CEUSADEE 


as always, he was eager to be moving toward 
his desires. 

“ I like it little—this delay, and no news,” 
he said to Richard one sunny day when they 
stood on the shore of the bay and strained 
their gaze unavailingly for sails upon the 
horizon. 

“ Perhaps, sire,” responded Richard, 
“ they have met with severe weather.” 

“ Yes,” agreed the king, his brow darken¬ 
ing. “ It may be.” 

“ Or they may have put into some port in 
Spain to give aid against the Moors.” 

“ That, too, may be, boy, but we shall 
tarry but a while longer.” The great king 
strode moodily back and forth uj)on the 
strand, his leonine head thrown back, his eye 
glittering. 

Tired of inaction and waiting, the. 
king soon after this—much to the delight 
of Richard and all the rest—sent Mercado 
about to find a suitable vessel to carry him 
and his personal following on to the East. 

Mercado succeeded, after a time, in secur- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


129 


ing the galley Pumbon for this service, and 
on the seventh day of August the king, ac¬ 
companied by Richard, Mercado, Law, Hal- 
mer, and Willock and the pick of the men- 
at-arms, sailed from the harbor of Marseille;^ 
and set oflf for the East. 


CHAPTER VII 


T he fleet from England and France, 
after many accidents and adven¬ 
tures, finally joined King Richard; 
and in September the great array of vessels, 
a full one hundred and eighty busses and 
galleys, entered the harbor of Messina in 
Sicily, while Philip of France and his men 
and the citizens of the place thronged the 
shores and all places of vantage, and mar¬ 
veled at the splendor of the great king’s 
coming. 

When the fleet had anchored, King Rich¬ 
ard, with Richard of Devon, who was now a 
trusted friend, Mercado, Halmer, and Law, 
and many others, put off immediately for the 
^ shore, and there landed in great pomp. 

The two mighty monarchs, Richard and 
Philip, embraced on the strand, and then 
amid a great procession went to the cathe¬ 
dral to offer up prayers. 

130 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


131 


The relations between the two kings, how¬ 
ever, were greatly strained, principally be¬ 
cause Richard, for various reasons, had 
broken his royal engagement with Philip’s 
sister, Alois. After an interview following 
the services in the church, Philip put to sea, 
but, on account of contrary winds, was 
obliged to return to Messina that night. 

This move on Philip’s part gave the Eng¬ 
lish king no concern, for he had a hearty con¬ 
tempt for his ally, which he made no attempt 
to conceal from Philip himself or from any 
one else, and, further, he could not help dis¬ 
trust him. 

In spite of the impatience he had before 
manifested, Richard was in no haste to quit 
Messina, having set out to right the wrongs 
of Joan, his sister, the former queen of 
Sicily, who was imprisoned by King Tan- 
cred, then king of the island; and he forth¬ 
with secured suitable quarters for himself 
fronting the cathedral square. 

Messina was now filled with English and 
French and men of many nations, and every 


132 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


hour there was disagreement and brawling 
among the turbulent throngs. This was un¬ 
seemly in men who were set out as allies for 
a common cause, but there was bitterness 
among all, and it would have required little 
to make a terrible strife among these fierce 
men before they even set eyes on Palestine. 

“ Mercado,” cried Richard, during the 
first day of his stay in Messina, as he rode 
into the square before his quarters, “ rear me 
a gallows here.” He pointed directly before 
the dwelling in which he stayed. ‘‘ And give 
it about by our heralds that any man who 
brawls in the streets, be he French or Eng¬ 
lish or Sicilian, shall hang therefrom within 
the hour.” 

And Mercado, as grim as his grim master, 
went to work at once, and soon a high gal¬ 
lows stood before the king’s palace. 

The turbulent city stood still when Rich¬ 
ard’s word was known. Men feared this 
proud, high-handed prince. 

“ Who has put up this thing? ” asked a 
fierce, steel-clad soldier of Germany that 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 133 

afternoon, speaking to a citizen who looked 
at the structure with eyes of fear. 

“Yon Richard of England—the lion- 
hearted.” 

“ Aye! You have well named him! ” ex¬ 
claimed the soldier. “ The Lamb of France 
had never dared do this! ” 

“ Have you aught to say against that 
Richard of the lion heart? ” demanded Hugh 
Willock, who stood near by; and he stepped 
forward to the first speaker. 

“ No,” laughed the German, with a nod 
toward the gallows. 

“ Pick no quarrel, Hugh,” said Richard, 
at his elbow. 

“Lest I be the first?” queried HugK, 
coolly. 

Richard laughed slightly. “ That was in 
my mind,” he said. “ But to quarrel ill be¬ 
seems men who are leagued to fight in the 
Holy War. Let us go.” 

The English king did more than erect his 
gallows; he took a monastery of the Greeks 
for a storehouse; and he policed the city and 


134 


THE YOUNG CKUSADEE 


produced a semblance of order among all; 
and the designation Lion Heart carelessly 
bestowed upon him for the first time by one 
in fear became the name by which he was 
known thereafter among friend and foe —a 
name very fitting for a warrior so dashing 
and intrepid. 

“ Peace has fallen upon the city, Richard,” 
said Willock that night. “ Let us walk out 
and about for air and exercise, if it suit 
you.” 

“ It suits me very well,” returned Richard. 
“ The king is busy over his plans for engines 
of war, and will not require me further to¬ 
night.” 

Buckling on their long swords, the two 
friends went into the thronged streets and 
pressed their way about. 

It was true that the lion-hearted king had 
wrought a degree of peace in the city; but, 
nevertheless, there was among the Sicilians 
a deep fear and distrust of the English mon¬ 
arch, who they believed designed to possess 
himself of the entire island. It required but 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


135 


little to cause serious trouble, and Richard 
and Hugh noted this as they strolled among 
the crusaders and citizens. 

“There’s a quarrel yonder!” exclaimed 
Hugh, suddenly, as they entered a small 
square illuminated with torches bracketed in 
walls of the buildings. 

Across the way, against the wall of a small 
stone building, stood a Sicilian bread vendor, 
and before him was a single man-at-arms, 
whom the two friends could identify as an 
Englishman by his mail. The Sicilian was 
crying out in a piercing, passionate utter¬ 
ance, thrusting his hands like talons toward 
the crusader, who bawled back in contemp¬ 
tuous anger. A crowd of French soldiers 
and rough citizens was gathering and pen¬ 
ning the disputants against the building, and 
Richard and Willock pressed in with the 
others, Hugh warning the young baron that 
they were practically alone among a goodly 
number of those who hated them. 

The bread vendor, whose dark face shone 
evil with hate in the flaring lights, turned 


136 


THE YOV^G CKUSADER 


toward the increasing semicircle before him, 
and in his shrill voice told that the English¬ 
man had taken his goods and refused pay¬ 
ment. An ominous growl went among the 
throng before the imprisoned vendor and the 
crusader, and the motley gathering glowered 
like a pack of wolves upon the stout soldier 
from the far-away northern island. 

‘‘ It’s a lie! ” roared the crusader with an 
oath, turning from the vendor. He lost no 
color or surety of mien, but when he saw 
dozens of men confronting him, a ring of 
fierce spirits all seemingly against him, a 
look of desperation crossed his face, and he 
backed toward the wall. 

Richard, caught with Willock in the press 
of angry men, looked at the desperate cru¬ 
sader against the wall, and instantly rec¬ 
ognized him as Staye, the man who had 
crept into his tent in Dartmouth to steal his 
sword. 

‘‘ It’s a lie! ” repeated Staye with another 
oath. “ Are there no English here! Hi 1 ” 

A cry went up among the crowd as the 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


137 


crusader called for his countrymen, and the 
bread vendor seized the knife in his belt and 
made a fierce lunge at him. 

Staye was too quick for him, however; he 
leaped aside, and made an effort to draw his 
sword. 

His enemies made this move impossible. 
With a howl they surged forward and beat 
the Englishman down before he could strike 
a blow with his hand. 

As he went down under thirty, Willock 
uttered a great shout, and, drawing his blade, 
went forward. 

Richard drew with Hugh, and followed 
into the melee. 

They struck quick and fast with the flat of 
their swords; and, owing to their quickness 
and fierceness, succeeded in pushing in to 
Staye, who, although dazed, leaped to his 
feet and drew his blade and swept it before 
him like a flame. 

“Make way!” cried Richard, sternly, 
anxious to prevent further trouble. Men, 
eager for strife, were now coming into the 


138 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


square on the run from every quarter, and 
he wished to work his way out to avoid a 
general melee, which might spread like wild¬ 
fire over the whole city. .With his drawn 
blade he went forward, Willock and Staye 
following. 

They left the square without trouble, 
although the men who had listened to the dis¬ 
pute had drawn their blades and stood eager 
for fight, but momentarily undecided. 

Among those who entered the square as 
Richard and the other two were making their 
escape were many English, and as the trio 
reached the end of the square and slipped 
into a street leading toward the cathedral 
they could hear the clash of steel and the 
fierce shouting of the crowd in the square. 

‘‘ This means trouble, Hugh,” said Rich¬ 
ard. “ They’ve started a fight that will be 
hard to stop. It may spread.” 

Hugh nodded grimly, and now sheathed 
his sword, 

Staye touched Richard lightly on the 
elbow. 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 139 

“ I remember you, sir,” he said as the 
other turned toward him. 

“ And I do you, rascal. Many men may 
die for your villainy. You had best go.” 

Staye grinned, and, thinking the advice 
good, slipped among the crowd through 
which they were passing and disappeared. 

“ You know that villain? ” queried Hugh. 

“ Yes,” answered Richard, and told the 
midnight adventure in Dartmouth. 

Hugh laughed, but made no comment. 

When they reached the palace, Richard 
immediately sought the king and related 
what had occurred. 

“ The word of trouble has already reached 
me, Richard,” said the lion-hearted crusader. 
“ You would do well to get your horse ready. 
You shall not sing to-night, but you may 
hear music, for I shall hold Messina in my 
grasp before daylight.” 

In five minutes Richard of England, with 
the boy Richard, Hugh, and Mercado, and 
all his personal following, was in the streets. 

The English trumpets sounded through 


140 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


the city in every quarter, and the lion- 
hearted king of England, sudden as a falcon 
in descent, went through the streets like a 
storm, sweeping everything before him, and, 
as he said, took Messina in one attack 
“ quicker than any priest could say matins.” 

The taking of the city had been accom¬ 
plished with comparatively little fighting. 
The Sicilians had been paralyzed with fright, 
and the French and most of the other foreign 
crusaders had lifted no hand either against 
or for Richard. 

In the morning Richard’s royal banner 
floated proudly from the walls of the con¬ 
quered city. King Philip was exceedingly 
angry at this, although he had made no move 
to aid, and Coeur de Lion, wroth as he was 
at his sullen and wavering ally, later in the 
day took down his standard in the cause of 
peace and amity, making the city over to the 
Hospitalers and Templars to hold till his de¬ 
mands upon King Tancred should be met. 

Peace of a certain kind, therefore, was 
made in Messina among all factions,—the 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


141 


natives, the French and the English, and the 
swarms of Germans and Italians; and dur¬ 
ing this quiet preparations were made for 
the departure to Palestine. 

King Philip, still bitter against Richard, 
sailed from Sicily first to aid the armies 
already before the walls of the city of Acre. 

For some time longer the king of England 
remained in Messina, enforcing his demands 
upon Tancred, building stone-throwers and 
other engines of war and keeping peace 
among his uneasy, turbulent host with a high 
hand and lion-hearted courage; but at length 
all affairs were settled in Sicily, and then 
Richard, with his host, put out from the 
harbor, and, skirting the shores, as was the 
custom among mariners in these days, made 
his way toward Palestine to join his fellow- 
crusaders before Acre. 


CHAPTER VIII 


LASHING in the sunlight, clear-cut 
against the blue of the cloudless sky, 
the great walls and towers of Acre 
rose out of the sea before the eyes of the 
English fleet. Southward among the palms 
lay the vast encampment of the beleaguering 
Christian armies, almost to Mount Carmel 
ten miles away, while beyond the crusaders 
rested Saladin with unnumbered hosts, girt¬ 
ing the Europeans and holding them between 
the city and the sea, waiting for an oppor¬ 
tunity to relieve the six thousand within the 
walls. It was a sight such as no man ever 
saw before or since. As far as the eye could 
see, the plains and hills were thickly dotted 
with the tents and pavilions of Christian and 
Moslem, each camp and gorgeous pavilion 
marked with the banner of captain and king; 
and for miles the country swarmed ^vith the 

glittering hosts of warriors. 

142 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


143 


The English sailed into the harbor at 
noon, under a grilling, pitiless sun, and along 
the strand thousands of Christians stood and 
greeted Richard of the lion heart with shouts 
of joy that echoed like thunder and carried 
consternation to Saladin, who saw that now 
he could never render aid to Acre. The 
waiting crusaders were delirious with their 
happiness, and hailed and received Richard 
as the saviour of their cause. 

That night was spent in feasting and 
revelry; petty jealousies were obscured for 
the time; all men mixed together; and one 
spirit of accord was in the mighty encamp¬ 
ment. 

Acre, which had withstood siege for two 
years, looked down from its walls and des-' 
perately prepared for continued defense. 
The Turk in battle had no superior, and the 
brave men in the city had no intention of 
yielding even to the great king of England 
until Saladin gave the word. 

Young Richard and Willock on that first 
night, when jubilation and good will were in 


144 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


all men of the Christian armies, moved about 
together, leaving Peter and Hazri in their 
own quarters. 

“ What think you of my words in Dart¬ 
mouth as to numbers, Richard? ” asked 
Hugh. 

‘‘ I perceive that much may be that seems 
impossible,” returned Richard with a frank 
laugh. 

“See yonder.” Willock pointed south¬ 
ward to Mount Carmel and toward the vast 
camp of the Saracens. “ There are the in¬ 
fidels—in number like the sands of the shore. 
Though we hem Acre to the sea, yet Saladin 
as truly holds us before Acre.” 

Naturally staid, Richard, although joyous 
at the thought that nothing could stand be¬ 
fore this grand crusading army, had no de¬ 
sire to mingle much with those who reveled; 
for he preferred to look upon the massive 
walls upon the landward side of the city and 
to examine the stone-throwers, or ballistas, 
the rams and scaling-ladders and the raw- 
hide shelters designed to protect the engi- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 145 

neers from Greek fire thrown from the 
walls. 

Shortly before the arrival of Coeur de 
Lion, Philip of France had led an assault 
upon Acre, but with no favorable result to 
the Christians. Across the wide, deep fosse 
before the grim walls Richard could see the 
strength of the defense against which the 
Europeans had thrown their stones and their 
colmnns of men with little avail. 

“ This city will never be taken by storm,” 
declared Hugh; and he pointed out to the 
younger man the reasons why he believed the 
place impregnable. “ You will doubtless 
see, boy,” he said, “ more than one valorous 
assault, but all will be useless unless our 
engines can batter a fair breach in those 
walls.” 

Although there was rejoicing all through 
the camps of the allies, yet before the wall, 
looming gigantic in the starlight, many of 
the crusaders were among their pits and 
movable shields discharging their crossbows 
whenever a man showed on the walls against 


146 THE YOUNG CRUSADER 

the soft purple sky. Besides this fringe of 
bowmen, the engineers were at the balliste, 
and Richard for the first time saw these 
stone-throwers in action. The creaking of 
wood and jangle of chains sounded cease¬ 
lessly along the fosse, accompanied by the 
thud of the great projectiles against the city 
walls. 

All this was exceedingly fascinating to the 
young baron, and he asked countless ques¬ 
tions, both of Willock and of the men along 
the moat among whom they made their way. 

At a late hour they started to retrace their 
steps to their quarters, and the talking and 
singing of thousands of happy, confident 
warriors came in the calm tropical night, and 
rose and fell in waves like the whisper of a 
most mighty wind gathering impetus in un¬ 
bound reaches. 

Hugh halted after they had advanced a 
few rods and looked back toward Acre, his 
scarred visage gi'im in the starlight. Rich¬ 
ard also stopped and gazed at the belea¬ 
guered stronghold so stubbornly held. 


THE YOUNa CEUSADER 


147 


“Ah/’ said Hugh in a matter-of-fact way, 
but with a flash of the eye, “ there is much 
wealth within those walls.” 

“ Yes,—for our lord, the king,” agreed 
Richard in a tone of rebuke. 

“Aye—for the lion-hearted/^ observed the 
big man, with a covert look at the boy. He 
smiled slightly, his lips curving grimly, and 
a man less preoccupied than Richard would 
have known he meant wealth was to be had 
by any man who was lion-hearted. And 
Hugh Willock did mean just that. He was 
loyal to the king; but, like most men of his 
day, looked upon looting as legitimate, and 
felt restraining orders to be utmost tyranny. 
“ There, boy,” he said, changing the sub¬ 
ject, “ see yon tower.” He pointed to a 
square tower in the southeastern part of the 
besieged city, rising clear-cut against the sky. 

“ Yes.” 

“ That is the ‘Accursed Tower ’ of which 
you have heard men speak, being so called 
because the story has it that it was built with 
the money that cursed Judas had from the 


148 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


priests.” Hugh pointed out the other tow¬ 
ers, the dome of the great mosque, and many 
other buildings visible from their position, 
for, having been in Acre, he knew the place 
well. “ It’s within that mosque,” he began, 
then abruptly broke his speech and spoke of 
something else. 

“ I fear you think of gold too much,” said 
Richard, who now understood Willock 
thoroughly. He himself had little desire 
for worldly gain; but, in spite of his zeal for 
the cause, he was too broad-minded to deem 
Willock reprobate. In truth, he had long 
before seen that very many men, even those 
who had taken the Cross, even princes them¬ 
selves, were come not unmindful of the 
material spoils of war; and he could not feel 
hardly toward his rough, brave, and loyal 
friend because he was as most men. 

“ I’m minded to prove that old soothsayer 
a liar, Richard,” responded Hugh, with his 
jovial laugh. 

“ It is unlikely,” said the boy, “ that his 
words of you were untrue and of me true. 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 149 

I wish you fortune, yet I place service to our 
lord above all the gold in the world.” 

Hugh shook his head. He knew the 
chivalrous, high-minded minstrel really 
meant this, meant it literally; and he honored 
him for it, although he could not feel the 
same way. 

It was very late now, and over the land 
amidst the great hosts and countless tents 
glimmered thousands of lights like earth 
stars. From far and near the Christian 
heralds stood forth in their respective camps, 
and their trumpets echoed over the plains in 
a weird martial harmony. The silvery blare 
and rippling echoes died away; and then 
the heralds, each at the top of his voice, cried 
out three times, ‘‘ Aid us. Holy Sepulchre! ” 
A profound silence came among the thou¬ 
sands of the faith of the Cross, and then, 
suddenly, in answer the whole vast army 
raised its cry in unison, ‘‘ Aid us, Holy 
Sepulchre! ” in a thunder that seemed to roll 
upward to the glittering stars. 

Richard gasped in awe, and Willock also 


150 


THE YOJJl^G CRUSADER 


felt the blood tingle in his veins. Then they 
both uplifted their hands and made the same 
invocation. 

“ Richard,” said Hugh, as soon as the spell 
of that sublime adjuration had left them, “ I 
would have speech of most confidential 
nature between us before we draw steel side 
by side, as soon, I trust, will be.” 

“ I have always been frank with you, dear 
Hugh.” 

“Yes, lad, yes,” answered the stalwart 
soldier. “ You have been. But I have 
something I must say. You remember that 
the old soothsayer who read you of your 
fortune said he saw in me secret purpose.” 

“ I remember he said you were a true 
man,” returned Richard, stoutly, with a 
smile. 

Hugh slightly flushed, and he placed his 
hand affectionately on his elbow. “ He read 
the truth. I did have a secret purpose, and 
now I would make it open to you. Come, 
let us find a place where no chance ear may— 
rob us.” 


THE YOUNG CRUSADEE 


151 


Richard nodded, and followed his friend, 
his face grave, his eyes a bit troubled. Hugh 
selected an open spot near the beach, and 
they sat down together. 

“ I was in Acre four years ago,” said Wil- 
lock at once, “ and while there learned of a 
great treasure buried in the inner court of 
the mosque, both gold and jewels. This 
wealth came from a Saracen caravan that 
was overtaken near Jaffa, and the two who 
gained it refused to yield it up to the Grand 
Master of the Templars—and they died the 
death. One of them was a friend of mine, 
and he bequeathed all the treasure to me. 
Unable to seize my bequest, I came away; 
Your father, Richard, was to come on with 
me, and we were to share alike. This hidden 
treasure is the purpose I have kept secret, 
and now your father’s half shall be yours. 
If I should die, all shall go into your coffers, 
for I have in my wallet a sure direction to 
the spot where my legacy awaits us.” 

Richard was silent for a while. He was 
not angry, but indifferent toward gain for 



152 


THE YOUNH CEUSADER 


himself. He believed Hugh’s story abso¬ 
lutely, but to his mind the treasure belonged 
to the king. Breaking the silence, he so 
stated to Willock. 

“ No, it is mine,” said Hugh, calmly, re¬ 
fusing to let anger come to his breast. 

“ There shall be no quarrel between us, 
Hugh,” returned Richard. “ I will make 
compact with you to recover the treasure. I 
will give mine up; you shall keep yours, 
though I doubt not it will work you only 
harm.” 

“ That’s a fair bargain, boy,” exclaimed 
Hugh, delighted that Richard should make 
no trouble because of scruples. In his heart 
he hoped that the baron would overcome his 
foolish feelings and keep his one-half; but, 
at any rate, he knew he would be true and 
allow him to profit according to his word. 

Leaving their isolated position, they 
strode through the outlying camps to find 
their own pavilion southward among a grove 
of palms not far from the seashore. They 
passed group after group of exultant cru- 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


153 


saders, who were circled about singers or 
tale-tellers, until finally they came to a 
stretch of rocky land bare of tents and piled 
with various stores, principally mounds of 
rocks brought on ships for the ballistee. 
This was a deserted spot, save for an occa¬ 
sional cross-bowman sauntering idly among 
the goods, singing to himself or watching the 
lazy combers of the flood-tide roll in from 
afar and curl and foamingly break upon the 
strand. 

As they skirted the beach, talking of the 
probability of an assault upon the city in tEe 
very near future, and of the disposition of 
forces and engines they thought wise, several 
shadows moved with them several rods from 
the shore and kept them company until they 
had left the camps some distance behind. 

When the two friends, quite unconscious 
of the shadows following, turned the bend 
and lost the glimmer of lights behind, and, 
in fact, all sight of the vast camp except the 
distant tents on an elevation, the shadows de¬ 
tached themselves from the cover of the 


154 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


slight rise above the beach—one, two, three, 
four, seven—and came running down the 
sand with their swords drawn and shimmer¬ 
ing in the starlight. 

One man was far in advance, as if he had 
started the rush or were fleeing from the 
others, and he sped on at topmost speed. 

“ By the Cross! ” exclaimed Willock, who 
had caught sight of the men when they broke 
cover. “ This is an attack,” he added, with 
a fierce oath; and on the instant he whipped 
out his great blade and faced about for 
action. “ Draw, Richard! You shall have 
good practice for that sword-arm of yours, 
and a chance to show these robbers what 
Willock has taught you.” 

Like Hugh, Richard had seen the men as 
they shot out from the gloom, and with his 
deceptive deliberation—for his movements 
were really like lightning—drew his common 
sword—for Goodwill he had vowed to draw 
first only against the infidel—and set him¬ 
self. 

The first man reached the friends well be- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 155 

fore the others, and, halting, dropped his 
sword-point. 

Richard gazed hard in amazement, for 
again Staye, the thieving soldier, had crossed 
his way. Fire flashed from his eyes, and but 
for the lowered blade he would have slain 
the rascal. 

“Quick, Sir Richard!” exclaimed the 
fierce-visaged villain. “ They come to kill 
you here. They are Frenchmen. I was to 
lead them to this, and we have followed you 
long.” 

“ He would gain time! ” cried Willock, 
and his terrible blade whirled up and flashed. 

“ Not so! ” shouted Staye, springing back'. 
“ I come to stand with you, Sir Richard.” 

“ Then,” said Richard, curtly, “ prove it 
quick. Turn! ” 

Staye, knowing the six were now within a 
few feet, wheeled upon the word and met 
his rushing former companions with a clash 
of steel. 

Richard and Hugh stood back to back, 
and made ready, Willock laughing softly. 


( 


156 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


Staye was not lying to play them treach¬ 
erously to death, for they saw him valiantly 
stand the first shock, and, with a plunge, 
thrust his blade through a breastplate and 
slay the first man like a sheep. 

The two nobles calmly moved a pace from 
each other and allowed the soldier to form 
one side of a triangle. 

The five remaining men were desperate 
rascals, skilled with the sword and with all to 
lose and much to gain. Except for Staye’s 
defection, it was clear that the two friends 
would have been unable to escape. 

The party of assassins, still silent, en¬ 
circled the stalwart trio, and, as Willock 
taunted them contemptuously, they suddenly 
closed in with a ferocious rush. The sword- 
blades rasped and rang, and the trio, stand¬ 
ing firm, held them off. 

Richard bore the brunt of this assault, for 
the five centered their attack upon him as 
much as possible, desperately trying to force 
in to cut him from the others. 

Willock justified the reputation he had 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


157 


throughout the war-camps of Europe, and he 
fought with incredible fury, his huge blade 
whirling and flashing like the sword of an 
avenging angel. With all his activity and 
skill, however, he did not strike down a man, 
but merely held them off and defended him¬ 
self and Richard as if he were waiting for 
something. 

Staye, the London soldier, was no mean 
swordsman. He stood by Richard’s side, 
and more than once struck aside a mighty 
blow from the assailants, giving more heed to 
the protection of the minstrel than to his own 
person. He was waiting for nothing, how¬ 
ever, and he fought with a fire and valor that 
brought him a roar of praise from Hugh. 

But stalwart and brave as were these 
three, they were in utmost peril, for the as¬ 
sassins were men worthy of their steel, and 
while they pressed with ferocious spirit they 
did not court death in foolish fashion. For 
several moments the eight men fought in a 
whirling mass, with a clash of steel and the 
sound of hard breathing. 


158 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


As they swayed here and there in the sand, 
Richard slipped, and one of the assassins, 
quick as thought, thrust his sword down be¬ 
tween his legs to throw him utterly, while a 
big man at his side uplifted his blade with a 
cry and made ready to strike as the minstrel 
lost his balance. 

With a roar of warning Staye leaped for¬ 
ward, and, with a sweeping, backward blow, 
beheaded the man with the upraised sword. 
Richard went prone at the moment, and 
Staye, under a rain of blows, stood over him 
till he gained his knees. 

“Quick, my lord!” gasped the brave 
rascal. “ Quick! They have me! ” As he 
spoke, he made a last desperate effort, and 
drove his steel cleanly through the breast of 
the man who had lowered his blade to trip 
the boy. 

With a thunderous cry Willock sprang 
forward. The truth was that while he had 
fought actively he had held his hand from 
actual slaying till need came, for he deemed 
this sudden assault of desperate odds fine 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


159 


schooling for the lad he loved, and he de¬ 
sired him to have a heavy share of honor in 
victory—if victory came. But now, seeing 
Richard on his knees and Staye crumbling 
like wax under a dozen vicious blows, he 
swept upon the assassins like a tiger. His 
sword went up and down and clove through 
steel mesh like cheese. Having slain the 
third man, he faced the other and with a roar 
engaged him, in a short time shearing him 
from shoulder to waist. 

Richard leaped to his feet and opposed the 
last man. With drawn sword Hugh stood 
still, and with his fierce face set in a grim 
smile watched the lad. He offered neither 
advice nor encouragement, but coolly waited 
and stood ready to aid if Richard failed to 
vanquish his opponent. 

The young minstrel had found a foe not 
wholly unworthy of his steel; hut, young and 
strong and tall beyond the average, as well 
as sublimely confident, he soon had victory 
in his grasp and knew that he could deal a 
decisive blow. Pity was a rare quality in 



160 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


these days, even among the nobles; but 
Richard of Devon, although a fighter to his 
last day, had a quality of mercy that made 
him tender of heart. 

“ An assassin! ” cried Hugh, disgustedly, 
seeing that Richard was master, and guess¬ 
ing at the feeling of pity in his breast. 

Richard hardened his heart, and, more¬ 
over, at Hugh’s cry his adversary made 
a desperate effort to close in and win with 
the impetuosity of his attack; so, sidestep¬ 
ping nimbly, he struck mightily and crashed 
through the fellow’s steel cap, shearing down 
into his hauberk and sending him prone to 
the sand among the others. 

“ It was well done, but tardily,” com¬ 
mented Hugh, coolly. “ Mercy is for the 
court of justice.” 

“ Mercy is for everywhere,” returned 
Richard, and then his kind heart thought of 
the rascal Staye. Cleaning his sword and 
sheathing it, he kneeled among the dead and 
dying ruffians, and, finding the thief, lifted 
his head and Held it. 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


161 


Staye was still alive, although dying from 
many Avounds, and when he saw the young 
noble holding him his eyes cleared and a 
bright light of surprise and gratitude shone 
in them. 

“ You saved our lives, Staye,” said the 
minstrel. 

“ Water! ” gasped the rascal. 

“No water here,” returned Willock, wKo 
stood looking down without emotion of any 
kind. “ You are a valiant man-at-arms,” he 
added. “ I would you were one of mine, but 
you are done and dying.” 

Staye grinned feebly, even in death 
pleased at the big man’s compliment. His 
eyes softened as he looked up into the hand¬ 
some face of the king’s young companion 
who had been kind to him. 

“ They would kill you. Sir Richard,” he 
whispered. “ ’Tis Mercado.” 

“ What does he say? ” asked Hugh. 

Richard raised his hand for silence. 

“ I was caught at—at my old tricks in the 
French camp—stealing,” went on Staye, 



V; 


162 THE YOUNG CEUSADER 

with a rustling of the breath, “ and Mercado 
saw me. He saved me, saved me on condi¬ 
tion that I seek you and stop your singing— 
forever. These others were Frenchmen who 
were hired to come with me. Good soldiers, 
too, for we expected to find you together. 
’Twas Mercado. Be careful! He will slay 
thee—for some hate I know not of.” The 
dying thief closed his eyes and breathed hard, 
and Richard felt his body grow limp under 
his arm. Staye suddenly opened his eyes 
wide, and quite clear, and looked at the boy 
with a look of devotion. “Water!” he 
whispered. 

Richard shook his head with a pitying 
eye. 

“You saved my life, Staye, and redeemed 
yourself,” he said. “ I thank you, for my¬ 
self and in the king’s name.” 

Staye smiled, and then closed his eyes, 
gave a little shudder, and crossed the un¬ 
known gulf between the living and the dead. 

Richard arose and glanced about with 
hardening face upon the slain assassins. 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 163 

“ It was a plot, Hugh,” he declared, and 
told what Staye had asserted. 

“ Mercado’s reason is plain,” said Hugh 
at length. “ He fears that through you his 
stealing of taxes will come to light, and, also, 
Law, the jealous, prods him. Best tell His 
Majesty and cross swords with Mercado.” 

“No,” returned Richard. “ There is no 
time for petty and personal quarrels. I will 
let it all pass till a better time. The king 
has enough to worry him without my 
trouble. And, besides, we should not bicker 
while on this common cause.” 

“ But watcli/^ put in Hugh, dryly, “ for 
he will try again.” 

“ Let us go.” Richard turned, and to¬ 
gether they passed down the strand and after 
some difficulty succeeded in coming to their 
own quarters. 


CHAPTER IX 


G reat preparations went forward 
for one concerted, grand assault 
upon the besieged city. Bridges for 
the fosse were made, scaling-ladders were 
fashioned to be placed against the walls, and 
more stone-throwers were built. The armies 
looked to their cross-bows and spears, sharp¬ 
ened sword and dagger, and furbished shield 
and helmet and hauberk. Every heart in the 
camp beat high with hope. 

Richard of the Lion Heart was the ani¬ 
mating spirit in the host; he superintended 
the building of the new ballistse, and was 
everywhere, filling men with zeal. 

Day after day, and each night, the crusad¬ 
ers discharged huge stones at the walls of 
the city. Coeur de Lion promised first one 
gold piece, then two, for every stone taken 
from Acre’s rampart. Here and there the 

ceaseless pounding from the catapults went 

164 


THE YOJma CEUSADEE 165 

on, and the Accursed Tower was battered 
and cast down. 

If the same first zeal and zealous coopera¬ 
tion had remained among the Christian 
armies, very likely the siege of Acre would 
have been ended much sooner than it was, 
and probably in a different way; but Rich¬ 
ard and Philip, each now hating the other, 
could not work in common. And, more than 
this, the Christian host was composed of men 
from every country in Europe, there being 
present on the plains of Acre more than 
fifteen kings and many nobles, each jealous 
of his place and honor. Each high person¬ 
age had a private end in view; so, even before 
Richard of England could strike a single 
blow, the splendid gathering of Europe’s 
finest warriors began to draw apart from 
one another in anger and jealousy, and to 
disintegrate and weaken as a fighting unit. 

Coeur de Lion could see this, but, great as 
he was, magnetic as he was, he could not con¬ 
trol the situation. He worked on cease¬ 
lessly, however, with Richard of Devon at 


166 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


his elbow, an intelligent, tireless helper, 
whose zeal and hope never flagged nor 
drooped. 

“ I am unwell,” said the king one night, 
after returning from an inspection of the 
catapults. “ I am weak in the knees and 
faint.” 

“You have worked too hard, sire,” re¬ 
turned the minstrel, “ and have worry on 
your mind.” 

The king, whose health was somewhat 
broken even before he left England, did in¬ 
deed look ill. His great handsome face was 
haggard and flushed, and he refused his sup¬ 
per this night and lay down in his pavilion. 

Richard was alarmed, for he saw His 
Majesty was really more than tired and wor¬ 
ried. 

Late in the evening Coeur de Lion com¬ 
plained of fever and seemed to be in a seri¬ 
ous condition, with much the symptoms of 
blood poisoning. 

“ You may call in the leeches, Richard,” 
he said at length. The young baron had 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


167 


before pressed him to have the physicians, 
but until then the king had refused to see 
them. 

The doctors came forthwith at Richard’s 
orders, and did what they could for the royal 
patient. They were somewhat mystified at 
his complaint, however, and were unable to 
arrest his high fever. 

The king was no better in the morning, 
but, indeed, worse; and Richard, under his 
orders, rode to the fosse with Hugh and Sir 
John Halmer to represent him. 

Day after day went by now, and Coeur de 
Lion was still in his bed, unable to lift his 
sword. He was in peril of his life. It was 
impossible to keep from the armies the fact 
that the leading spirit of the crusade was 
very ill, and a gloom fell over all the encamp¬ 
ment. 

This was a dark hour for Richard of 
Devon, who loved the lion-hearted king both 
as a monarch and as a man; but he tried to 
keep his spirits up as best he could. Zeal¬ 
ously he served the king, staying almost all 


168 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


the time at his bedside, telling him of the 
camp and of the progress being made in the 
preparations for the storming of the city. 
He sang to him and related the stories he 
had learned in his Devon home, cheered him 
and waited upon him, and proved a friend 
such as great men seldom have. 

After a time the leeches decided that Rich¬ 
ard of England was ill of a disease they 
called Arnoldia, a wasting fever; but they 
could do little save hope. 

During all this period Peter, of course, 
served his master, Richard, as faithfully as 
Richard himself served the king; and Hugh 
Willock saw the young minstrel every night 
to acquaint him with the news of the camp. 

On the night when Coeur de Lion lay most 
ill, Willock came as usual to see Richard. 

“ The assault is to be to-morrow,” he an¬ 
nounced. 

“ To-morrow! ” Richard was incredulous. 

“ I have it straight. Philip fears we wait 
too long, and will move. I tell you in order 
that you can be with me and your men.” 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


169 


“ Do we English move without Richard? 

“ Of a surety. Between us, boy,” said 
Hugh in a low tone, ‘‘ I think Philip is not 
ill pleased that the lord of England—whom 
he hates—lies abed. He would take all the 
glory to himself.” 

Richard shook his head. “ I may not 
leave him—the king. I will not.” 

‘‘You need not fear for your honor, boy,” 
returned Willock with a gTin, “ for I tell you 
Acre will not yet be taken by assault. You 
must know that besides the assaulting we 
must look to our rear yonder, for Saladin 
waits to come upon us at the trenches there 
like a sand-storm.” 

“Yet, Hugh, this is treachery to move 
while our lord is unable to direct.” 

“ No,” said Hugh, promptly. “ Delay is 
ill now, for men are beginning to tire of 
waiting. Still, as I say, I think Philip 
would take all the glory. I prophesy he 
shall have but small measure.” 

Hugh’s news proved to be quite true, and 
on the following day the Christians made 



170 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


ready to storm the city once more under the 
leadership of the king of France. 

Coeur de Lion lay on his couch helpless, 
but he knew that the army was about to make 
the assault without him. Bitter as it was to 
lie helpless at this time, he urged his officers, 
through Richard, to fight with the rest with¬ 
out jealousy or friction. 

Richard Avas Avell-nigh beside himself. In 
spite of Hugh Willock’s words, he believed 
that Acre could not possibly withstand the 
assault, for he could not conceive of any 
human power that could stand before the 
mighty host of which he Avas one; and, of 
course, he was Avild to be Avith Hugh and his 
own men-at-arms from Darby. His first 
duty was to serve the king’s person, however, 
and he steeled himself to the great disap¬ 
pointment. 

Coeur de Lion called him to his couch, and, 
obeying, the young baron knelt before him. 
Although loAv and but half-conscious, the 
king knew the unrest and desire in the boy’s 
heart. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


171 


“ When does Philip move? ” he asked. 

“ In the morning, sire.” 

One of the three physicians in the pavilion 
cautioned His Majesty not to excite him¬ 
self. 

“ Do you wish to go, boy? ” he asked, in 
his labored whispering. He smiled slightly, 
and paid no attention to the doctor’s words. 

“ Yes, sire, but I will stay here.” 

Richard the king slightly moved his head. 
He closed his eyes for a moment. When he 
opened them, somewhat of his usual spirit 
flashed forth. 

‘‘ Yes, boy,” he said, “ you will stay here, 
but you can go out now and then and tell 
me how the assault goes.” 

Shortly after this the English king sank 
very low, indeed so low that Richard and all 
the attendants feared for him exceedingly. 

The camp was comparatively quiet that 
night, although, as usual, the heralds blew 
their trumpets and cried out, “Aid! Aid 
for the Holy Sepulchre! ” 

Dawn came—the blazing sun rose in a 



172 


THE YOUNG CEUSADEE 


copper sky. The whole Christian army, 
thousands and thousands of men in glitter¬ 
ing mail, all save Guy de Lusignan’s foice 
far to the south, placed there to check a rear 
attack from the Moslems, moved across the 
plains and spread out before the land walls of 
the city—a wondrous, gorgeous scene of mili¬ 
tary glory. A hundred brazen trumpets 
blared in the hot, cloudless morning, and the 
hosts crossed the bridges over the fosse, and, 
shouting, dashed like a wave against the mas¬ 
sive walls of Acre. The catapults clanked 
regularly, and hurled their huge missiles over 
the walls into the city. A great fringe of 
cross-bowmen skirted the fosse and darkened 
the air with their bolts shot at the defenders 
now thick upon the wall. Hundreds and 
hundreds of fierce swordsmen pushed up to 
the walls, and, under a shower of stones and 
arrows and the unquenchable Greek fire, 
placed their ladders against the stones, and, 
in a struggling mass, made a heroic effort to 
gain a foothold on the ramparts. 

The Saracens of Acre, however, had not 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


173 


been surprised by the assault, for their 
watchers had told of the movement in the 
Christian army,—if, indeed, they had not 
learned of the intended assault from their 
spies; and when the crusaders’ trumpets 
blew they swarmed to the walls, and, regard¬ 
less of the hail of bolts from the bowmen, 
desperately resisted the fierce scalers and put 
to naught all efforts to gain the top in force. 

Ladder after ladder was hurled from the 
walls by the ferocious Turk, and hundreds of 
the crusaders lay dead and dying below the 
grim walls. At length down went the last 
ladder, and, amidst great shouts from the 
men on the walls, all the scaling crusaders 
who were able retreated to the fosse. 

The assault had failed, failed utterly, and, 
heavy of heart, the Christians left the walls 
of the city and returned to the vast camp. 

Joy reigned that night in Acre and in 
Saladin’s camp, where word of the repulse 
had speedily gone by carrier pigeon and 
then by spy. After the coming of Richard, 
hailed by the Christians as the deliverer and 


174 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


dreaded by his foes from the first, this re¬ 
pulse was a very great triumph for the Mos¬ 
lem; and Saladin in the hills was planning 
for the time when he should come down upon 
the plains with his tribesmen from all Arabia 
and sweep away the Christian invaders like 
a flood. 

If joy reigned in Acre and in Saladin’s 
tents in the hills beyond the brook of Kishon, 
the opposite feeling was in the crusaders’ 
camp. Philip was angry, ashamed, and he 
sulked. One faction blamed another for 
this and that. Petty bickerings took place, 
and all the smouldering jealousies of kings 
and princes and captains burst forth anew. 
Everybody was angered and cast down, and 
gloom was over the plain. 

During the gallant but futile assault, 
Richard of Devon had ridden out to the fosse 
upon the king’s command and had twice car¬ 
ried news of the fight, at the end bearing 
news of the failure. 

His heart thrilled with fierce joy that day 
when he saw the heroic efforts of his fellow- 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


175 


crusaders to scale the walls, and he longed to 
be with them. His own Darby bowmen 
were stationed near a ballista under Willock, 
and he was proud to see them. He was 
glad they were not among the scaling parties, 
for even his inexperienced eye could foresee 
the result. 

King Richard was somewhat better that 
noon, and when the boy returned, after see¬ 
ing the last ladder go down with its load of 
men squirming under the terrible Greek fire 
and shower of rocks, he read the news in his 
face, and, struggling to an elbow, fixed his 
fever-gleaming eyes upon him. 

“ You bring bad news, boy,” he exclaimed. 

“ Y"our Majesty! ” remonstrated the chief 
leech. “ Nay, he brings no bad news.” 

Coeur de Lion laughed even in his pain, 
and kept his eyes upon the minstrel who so 
faithfully tended him. 

“ Richard! ” he said imperiously question- 
ingly. 

“ The assault has failed, sire,” returned 
Richard, simply. He would have evaded the 


176 


THE YOUNG CRUSADEE 


truth if such a course would do good; but he 
knew the king would learn the truth very 
soon, and, indeed, probably knew then; and, 
moreover, he would not lie outright for any 
man. 

The king could not restrain a grim smile 
at this report which meant Philip’s discom¬ 
fiture. Philip had taken advantage of his 
illness to try to win Acre alone; but, what¬ 
ever Richard’s faults, he first desired success 
for the cause, and was accordingly disap¬ 
pointed. He realized, too, that this failure 
would put new heart into the Moslems hem¬ 
ming the Christians in before the city walls. 

For many days after the repulse of 
Philip’s assault, the crusaders remained 
gloomily before the stubborn city. Each 
night the heralds of the armies blew their 
trumpets and cried out, “Aid! Aid for the 
Holy Sepulchre! ” And the kings and cap¬ 
tains, torn and riven by their pride and 
jealousies, tried in vain to re-create the spirit 
of unity and zeal with which the camp had 
been inspired upon Coeur de Lion’s arrival. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


177 


Although the crusaders made no other 
great assault upon Acre, yet always the 
ballistse were at work battering upon the 
walls. Bowmen stationed by the fosse 
ceaselessly shot their bolts at such defenders 
as appeared in sight. Every day some gal¬ 
lant band tried by quickness or stealth to win 
to the top of the rampart, but always the 
watchful Saracens repulsed them. Twice, 
in fact, two or three bold spirits gained the 
top of the walls, there to be put to the sword 
and thrown to the ground. 

To make matters more dark. King Philip 
took to his bed, sick of the same peculiar 
malady that kept Coeur de Lion in his pa¬ 
vilion. Others of the camp fell ill likewise, 
and the great Count of Flanders was carried 
away by the disease. 

Richard of England, however, began to 
recover, and as soon as he could sit up he 
caused his pavilion to be moved to a hillock 
near the fosse from which he could overlook 
the stone-throwers and direct them, as well as 
superintend the construction of new ones. 


178 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


He was near enough to the walls to employ 
the cross-bow, with which he was very skill¬ 
ful, and young Richard, who was constantly 
with him, strung the bow for him and 
notched his bolt when he desired. 

Not all this time was spent in warlike talk 
and work. The king and the minstrel talked 
of many things besides, and Richard touched 
the harp and sang daily. Together they 
composed songs, as seriously and with as 
much pleasure as if they were secure in Eng¬ 
land. 

They worked long upon one ballad in 
particular, and before the walls of Acre 
wrote the music and composed the words of 
the entire piece. 

“ ‘ Love ’ does not rhyme with ‘ rove,’ 
sire,” said Richard, while they were at work 
upon the ballad. 

‘‘ No,” agreed the king, readily. “ But 
we cannot have ‘ love ’ twice so near together, 
boy. We cannot repeat it.” 

“ Say ‘ dove,’ then, sire,” suggested Rich¬ 
ard, and he changed the line upon which they 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


179 


were engaged so that it ended with “ dove,” 
without impairing the meaning. 

The whole ballad was done at last, and 
every day, in fact several times a day, Rich¬ 
ard sang it. Now and then the great king 
himself, this mighty warrior who loved 
music, joined his voice with the boy’s. The 
song was soon known to them by heart, but 
neither king nor minstrel could guess that it 
was to be of the utmost importance to them 
and their country in a few months. 

The time now came when Coeur de Lion 
was able to stand like himself and put on his 
armor. When he appeared on the plain—a 
huge figure in his glittering steel—the 
Christian army, although sadly rent by dis¬ 
sension, took new heart. 

Philip of France was still very ill, but 
Richard made preparations for another as¬ 
sault upon Acre, having no doubt he could 
win to the walls. He had learned from spies 
that the city was about ready to yield, that 
it could hold out but a short time longer, 
and he expected victory. He was not to 


180 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


have the joy and glory of taking it by storm, 
however, for on the very day he had decided 
to make his assault, Saladin, knowing the 
gloom of the Christians, came down from the 
hills and threw his host upon Guy de Lusi- 
gnan, the throneless king of Jerusalem, who 
was stationed at the south of the plain of 
Acre. 

De Lusignan and his men fought like 
heroes, but, before the myriads of infidels, 
were swept speedily back upon their com¬ 
panions in arms. 

The Christian army was ready, fortu¬ 
nately, and, with Coeur de Lion at its head, 
formed and met Saladin in a terrific battle. 
Here on the plain of Acre the two hosts— 
thousands and thousands of men, on foot and 
on horseback—met in a furious hurly-burly 
under the burning sun of Palestine. 

Right well that day did the English king 
deserve the name “ Lion Heart.” With his 
enormous battle-axe swinging, he flailed 
through the pressing Orientals, his own 
knights close following, and cast fear and 




He FliAILED THROUGH THE PRESSING ORIENTALS .—Page 180, 




dr, J 




THE YOUNG CRUSADER 181 

doubt into Saladin’s bosom. He seemed to 
be everywhere; his huge figure, clad in glit¬ 
tering steel from head to foot, on his favorite 
black horse, led many a charge; and his voice 
rose above all others and gave new strength 
and courage to the crusaders. Wherever he 
rode among the Moslems with his doughty 
knights, there he left death behind. No man 
could stand before him, and the fierce infidels 
looked upon him as one more than mortal. 

All through that great battle, Richard of 
Devon, with Goodwill flashing in the sun¬ 
light, fought by the side of his mighty lord. 
Waves of dark men, with sword and spear, 
brave and fierce as tigers, swept up and 
about him, but always the lion-hearted king 
and his minstrel and knights came safely 
through, although now and then one of the 
number went down amidst the struggling 
horde, never to rise. 

Backward and forward over the plains the 
great, glittering, fighting hosts swarmed, 
and the shouting of Christian and infidel, the 
cries of the wounded and the dying, and the 


182 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


ceaseless clashing of steel sounded like the 
roar of a tempest at sea. 

Young Richard of Devon rode dauntless 
through this terrible scene, firmly seated on 
his bay, wielding Goodwill with exceeding 
skill and powerful arm. Here the king’s 
battle-axe rose and fell; there flashed Rich¬ 
ard’s great sword. Richard was cool 
enough, though his heart thrilled. His eye 
was keen and sure, and every minute he kept 
watch upon the king at his side, to be ready 
to save him, and many a time his long blade 
struck aside a sword or a scimitar thrust at 
the Lion Hearted by some infidel who sacri¬ 
ficed himself to make that one effort to cut 
down the English king. 

The sun was slipping into the sea before 
the battle was decided, its long, last blood- 
red rays striking across the plain like gigan¬ 
tic javelins; and then, of a sudden, the host 
of Saladin gave up the contest, and, struck 
with the spirit of panic, turned and fled 
toward the hills like a retreating wave. 

All through the Christian army went up 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


183 


a fiercely triumphant shout, and like another 
wave the crusaders drove the Moslems back 
and beyond the Kishon and pursued them 
even to the hills with great slaughter. 

When Saladin turned in rout, Coeur de 
Lion drew rein with his men on the field thick 
with the dying and the slain, and, with shin¬ 
ing face, turned to Richard and the other 
gentlemen. 

“ The Lord has favored us and given 
victory,” he said. He uplifted his face 
reverently and gave thanks. He shook his 
head sadly as he looked over the bloody plain 
and saw the cost of victory. “ Boy,” he said 
to Richard, “ you fight as well as you sing. 
I thank you for many a stroke this day.” 

Glowing with supreme pleasure, Richard 
bowed his head before the king. To be 
praised by the gi^eatest lord of Christendom 
on the battlefield! Joyous pride surged in 
his heart, and at this moment he was the 
happiest, proudest lad alive in the whole 
world. 

Coeur de Lion thanked all in his courteous, 


184 


THE YOUNG CRUSADEE 


hearty way,—the way that made warriors 
love him. 

Among the king’s immediate following 
there had been loss, of course; and Richard, 
although not glad, felt some relief to know 
that Mercado could plot against him no 
more. Early in the day that valiant soldier, 
for he was as brave a man as ever drew steel, 
went down among a press of the infidels. 

Sir John Halmer, too, was missing, and 
late in the night his body was brought in 
from the plain. 

Hugh Willock and the Darby men had 
fought all the day near Richard of Devon, 
and, as all were in steel armor, there were 
but three missing. Hugh, who had per¬ 
formed wonderful feats of strength and skill, 
was without a scratch; and when he met 
Richard he made no effort to conceal his joy 
in finding him alive and unhurt. He praised 
the young baron, too, and his words were as 
pleasing to Richard as the king’s. 

At dark the crusaders returned to camp, 
and a spirit of jubilation and good will was 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


185 


once more among them. Their joyous 
songs rang out in the star-gemmed night 
hour after hour, and here and there the 
trumpets pealed triumphantly, while the 
voices of the heralds came clear above song 
and trumpet in words of praise and thanks. 

“ Now,’’ said Hugh that night, as he re¬ 
clined with Richard near their pavilion, 
“ Acre will surrender. We have driven 
Saladin back and broken his hope of succor¬ 
ing the city. Doubtless now he has sent the 
word to yield.” 

“So declared His Majesty,” returned 
Richard, drowsily. Although the spirit of 
great joy was in him in this victory which 
meant so much for the Cross, yet he was 
almost played out, and found it hard to keep 
awake. In fact, he was so worn and weary 
that soon he fell fast asleep. Hugh winked 
at Peter, who was near by, and then, with a 
smile at his young friend, lay on his elbow 
musing, with his eyes longingly fixed upon 
the city clear in the starlight. 

Hugh was not mistaken about the effect 


186 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


of Saladin’s utter rout on the plains of Acre. 
On the following day envoys came to Coeur 
de Lion and the Christian leaders and sought 
for terms. Acre was fallen. The crusaders 
made terms of surrender as they desired, 
terms exceedingly favorable to themselves, 
and hard but not dishonorable to the infidels. 

At the appointed hour the gates of the city 
were thrown open, and all except the hos¬ 
tages departed therefrom free, but with 
naught save the clothes they wore. After 
evacuation, the crusaders, singing joyously, 
their jubilant trumpets sounding, marched 
into the stronghold which had cost thirtv 
thousand Christian lives, and flung their 
victorious banners to the sunlight and the 
breath of the sea. 

Richard of England quartered himself in 
the royal palace, and the French king 
stationed himself in the house of the Tem¬ 
plars. 

But in this time of triumph ill-feeling 
again manifested itself among the factions 
composing the crusading army, and Richard 


THE YOUHG CKUSADER 187 

and Philip began to bicker over the division 
of spoils. 

Leopold of Austria, a proud noble, thought 
himself at liberty to place his ducal banner 
upon the walls of Acre with those of the 
great kings, but, to his intense mortification 
and rage, his standard was broken and his 
ensign hurled outside the walls. He was 
furious. He attributed this to the proud, 
imperious king of England, and hated him 
with a terrible hate. He felt that he could 
do nothing to revenge himself, however, 
against so powerful an enemy, and so, ar¬ 
ranging his affairs, he took ship and left 
Acre for home. 

Little was noted of Leopold. Richard did 
not know why he had gone. There was 
plenty to engage his attention, for ill-feeling 
had grown hot among the armies. Acre 
seethed with discontent, and only his energy 
and fearlessness and tact prevented a general 
outbreak. 


CHAPTER X 


T he dwelling wherein Richard of 
Devon, with Hugh Willock and the 
Darby men, was quartered, lay near 
the sea-wall of the city, and one sunny after¬ 
noon not long after the crusaders had 
entered Acre the young baron and Hugh 
were together in a chamber looking out 
across the dazzling, peaceful bay. 

Hugh Willock lay stretched in the broad 
stone window-ledge in the shade, where the 
cooling breeze from the water could strike 
upon his brown, scarred visage; while Rich¬ 
ard, within the apartment, rested his stalwart 
frame in a curious cushioned chair, with side- 
rests, a chair such as he had never seen be¬ 
fore. 

“ The duke of Austria has quitted the 
city,” observed Hugh at length, with a gri¬ 
mace of contempt. “ His delicate feelings 
were hurt when his banner fell from the 
wall.” 


188 


THE YOUNG CKUSADEE 189 

“ He blames it to us, Hugh, yet I think 
no English hand cast it down.” 

“ I know not,” returned Hugh, carelessly. 
“ I like these German kind very little, and, 
as you know, they all hate our lord for what 
they call his meddling in Sicily and else¬ 
where.” 

“ I regret to see such ill-feeling among our 
men,” said Richard, gravely. ‘‘ I’m not an 
old soldier, Hugh, as you are, but I know it 
is bad for an army to be so torn with 
jealousies.” 

“ It is so,” agreed the other, “ and I have 
heard, too, that Philip ”—he uttered the 
name with great contempt—“ has told our 
lord that he desires to return home.” 

Richard struck the side-rest of his chair 
sharply. His handsome face flushed, and 
his eyes shot Are. 

He will do no such thing, after his vow 
to carry this crusade on with the English.” 

Hugh nodded with his grim smile. 

“ I think he will, boy. He has not re¬ 
covered from his fever, and it leaks out that 


190 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


he thinks he was poisoned. You will see 
that our lord will release him from his vow.” 

Richard sat upright and stared at Hugh, 
who did not move his huge frame at all; but 
he made no further comment. 

“ It is even so, Richard,” went on Willock. 

' “ He would withdraw. He is ill, and has 
had word that his son is unwell.” 

This will mean more glory, then, for our 
king and English steel.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Hugh with a little laugh. 
“ Yes, you shall have plenty of chance, boy, 
to wield Goodwill. I have no doubt we 
should be as well off now if every French 
dog should leave us.” He cast a quick look 
about to make sure that neither Hazri nor 
Peter was in the apartment, and that nobody 
was under the wall. “ But,” he added, “ I 
have in mind at this moment another sub¬ 
ject.” 

‘‘ You are still thinking of the treasure of 
which you spoke to me? ” 

“ Aye, boy. I have thought over the mat¬ 
ter much, and have even been in the court- 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 191 

yard of the mosque, although I could do 
little, because the place was crowded.” 

Richard was honest enough to show his 
interest# It must be confessed that he now 
saw the lure of gold, although his ideals were 
still true. There was nothing surprising in 
this change of viewpoint. Hugh Willock 
was not the only man concerned for gain. 
Everybody talked of gold and wealth—men- 
at-arms and knights and princes. He could 
see that even Coeur de Lion was not slow in 
taking full share of the captives and treas¬ 
ures of Acre. And yet, while Richard 
realized that more men toiled and marched 
and fought for gold than for the glory of the 
Cross, he still had no desire for treasure for 
himself. 

Hugh perceived that the boy looked upon 
the treasure quest in a different way. He 
made no comment upon it, but he threw back 
his head and uttered his jolly laugh, which 
made the minstrel flush. 

“ I am interested now,” said Richard, 
understanding Hugh’s amusement. 


192 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


“ I would not have you change your ideals 
—much—for great treasure,” put in Hugh, 
quickly, his face sober and strangely soft¬ 
ened as he looked at the lad he loved like a 
son. “ There is much in the world besides 
gold, Richard,” he went on, “ and yet, think 
—he must first have who would give. The 
beggar gives no alms; he takes them. Nay, 
I would have you as you are^—kind and true. 
The riches of a fine spirit never grow less, 
but multiply with the giving. Still, gold 
helps to make the mind easy, and one can be 
more kind and inspiring with the mind at 
rest.” 

“ You are becoming much of a preacher, 
Hugh,” laughed Richard, greatly amused at 
the rough soldier’s jmnble of words, but not 
scornful. 

A red suffused the stalwart swordsman’s 
bronzed cheeks. Hugh laughed again in his 
hearty way, and sat upright in the window, 
his broad shoulders outlined against the 
shimmering sea. 

“ I think it will be dangerous, lad,” he 




THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


193 


said, “ to try to gain our treasure now, for 
all our men swarm everywhere. If we were 
seen, I doubt not we should have some 
trouble.” 

“ I have spoken to His Majesty about this 
affair,” responded Richard. 

“ Aye,” exclaimed Hugh in a sharp tone, 
his face hardening. It had not been in his 
mind to let the king know of the hidden 
treasure. He saw Coeur de Lion in a dif¬ 
ferent way than Richard, and believed he 
would not scruple to take all that came 
within his power. 

“ And,” continued the young baron, not 
failing to see Hugh’s look, “ he accords 
us permission to do as we will in the mat¬ 
ter.” 

“You did not tell him where the treasure 
lies, or that I held the secret? ” 

“ I told him nothing save that there was a 
treasure.” 

“ Good! ” The big man arose and paced 
back and forth, with lowered brow. He 
stopped abruptly before Richard. “We 


I 


194 THE YOUNG CRUSADEP 

would do well to move quickly—even 
to-night. Does His Majesty require 
you? ” 

“ I shall have no difficulty in getting leave. 
He is too busy now to think of songs or 
verse-making.’’ 

“ Then to-night we’ll go to the mosque, 
though it will be risky, for there may be 
many in the cool of the inner court. But 
we must take the chance. I’ll pick out three 
good rascals of the Darby men, and we’ll 
trust to fortune.” 

Richard arose, and the two gripped hands, 
smiling into each other’s eyes. 

As the young baron had stated, Coeur de 
Lion was little disposed to spend the evening 
idly. Many duties claimed him. After the 
evening meal, however, which was served in 
the gardens of the palace under a gorgeous 
silken canopy amid the palms, with the foun¬ 
tains plashing about the tables, the great 
king sat for a while at leisure, while Richard 
of Devon, standing under the glittering stars 
in the serene sky, sang the song they had 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 195 

composed together in the shelter on the 
mound before the city. 

Richard, the king, was delighted. He 
was a man who threw himself whole-heart¬ 
edly into the thing engaging him; and, 
although harassed by many problems, he 
gave himself up to amusement for a few 
minutes. He was greatly pleased with the 
lad from Darby; he loved him, and, also, he 
highly respected him for his conduct in the 
furious battle on the plains. 

“ That song will live, Richard,” he de¬ 
clared with quiet enthusiasm, while those 
about in the royal gardens applauded spon¬ 
taneously when the manly, mellow voice of 
the minstrel had died away on the last note. 
“ I would that your voice could live to sing 
it thus to those who know of us in after 
times.” 

Richard flushed, as he always flushed at 
his lord’s praise, but he could not forbear a 
little smile at the idea of equality in author¬ 
ship implied in the king’s wish. 

Coeur de Lion laughed. He was keen and 


196 


THE YOUNG CEUSADEK 


exceedingly quick, and he noted and under¬ 
stood the minstreFs smile. 

“ It’s true enough, boy,” he said, “ that 
most of the song is yours, yet am I proud to 
say that I laid therein a few words. I did 
not praise to praise myself, as your dislo^^al 
smile would charge.” 

“ Sire,” began Richard, as the officers be¬ 
gan to smile at him in a hard way. 

The king laughed again, frankly. 

“ You are not made for a court, boy; you 
are too honest,” he said dryly, his proud eye 
glancing about the men and ladies in the 
gardens. “You are too honest to give me 
unearned and undue praise. That last verse 
once more. Sir Richard, and then you may 
go where you will till the morrow,” 

Again Richard opened his lips, unafraid, 
and lifted his strong, pure voice in the song 
now most favored by the king. 

When he was done, he bowed before His 
Majesty as was his wont. 

The lion-hearted king smiled down at him 
and touched him on the shoulder. 


THE YOJma CRUSADER 


19T 


“ You shall be more than a singer of songs 
one day, lad,” he said. “ I watch your mind. 
I say some day you shall be a counselor with 
your lord, mayhap.” 

Thrilling at these words, Richard took 
the king’s extended hand and reverently 
kissed it. Save God and the right, there 
was no equal to the king of England. 

“ I thank you, sire,” he said, with a little 
tremor in his voice. “ I want nothing on 
earth save to serve you.” 

“ And I thank thee,” returned Richard 
in a low tone, for he knew that this brave, 
stalwart young lord of Devon still spoke 
from the heart with pure fealty. “ Now go, 
lad; go to thy dear love—old Hugh Wil- 
lock.” 

Richard arose and, bowing, left the 
gardens, speaking with his accustomed frank 
and cordial words to those who addressed 
him. 

At the appointed hour Ke met Hugh in 
the court of his dwelling by the sea-wall. 
Hugh was patiently awaiting him, seated on 


I 


198 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


a stone bench, leaning with hands crossed on 
his sword-hilt, gazing at the heavens. He 
was clad in his coat of steel mesh, covered 
with his white tunic with its red cross on the 
breast, and his conical steel cap was on the 
stone beside him. 

“ Our rascals await us,” said Hugh after 
greeting him, and he named the three men he 
had selected for the night adventure. 

Richard signified his satisfaction with the 
other’s choice, and then he told Hugh of the 
king’s kind words. 

“We shall not move together long,” was 
Willock’s quiet comment. He was joyed to 
see that his beloved young friend was to gain 
position and honors, but his stern heart 
sickened as he thought of the days when they 
would be separated. 

Richard took his hand, and, with shining 
eyes, looked at his friend’s scarred, unmoved 
visage. 

“ You shall prosper where I prosper, 
Hugh,” said he, earnestly. 

“ I Avant nothing but to see you go to 


THE YOUNG CKUSABER 


199 


honor/’ exclaimed Hugh, roughly. I 
court neither position nor honor—I am too 
old and too rough. All I want is a bit of 
land—and peace. But—let us go.” 

Side by side they left the inner court and 
joined the three stout Darby retainers who 
were waiting, armed at Willock’s command 
with crossbows as well as swords. 

Peter came inopportunely out as they 
called the men to them. 

“ I go with you, sir,” he said in a matter- 
of-fact way. “ I fear to take the air alone.” 

“ You fear nothing,” laughed Richard,— 
“ not even to speak impudence to your mas¬ 
ter. You may sit in my chamber near the 
window and watch the stars wink.” 

“ Nay,” returned the faithful Peter, 
boldly. “ I must walk.” 

“ Come along, then.” 

Peter smiled broadly with great delight. 
He loved his young lord, and was exceed¬ 
ingly jealous of Hugh Willock, even though 
the old soldier was a knight. He desired 
nothing better than the chance to do him a 



200 


THE YOUNG CEUSADEE 


great service, to show his love by dying for 
him if need arose. 

The party of six forthwith moved out into 
the streets and set off toward the great 
mosque, Richard and Hugh leading. 

Richard of England ruled in Acre imperi¬ 
ously and as a conqueror; but, for all he 
could do, the city thronged with turbulent 
streams of men of the various princes and 
kings and nobles. Upon entry into Acre, 
the crusaders, uncontrollable after hardship 
and battle and restraint, gave themselves 
over to revelry hardly in keeping with their 
vows, and the city was in a ferment. Brawls 
were frequent in the streets and squares, and 
no single man was safe amid the press of 
boisterous men of all the nations of Europe. 

Richard and Willock, however, pressed 
their way on, and avoided trouble, which 
might come from insult or too great cor¬ 
diality, and stopped nowhere. 

The great mosque of Acre was of white 
stone, built four square around a spacious 
court. The court was shaded with huge 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


201 


palms about all sides, as well as in the center 
over the garden and the little stone inclosure 
of the well. It was laid with squares of dif¬ 
ferent-colored stones, set in a regular pat¬ 
tern, and about the sides ran a platform 
about a foot high. Many doors gave ingress 
to the mosque on all quarters. 

Richard and Hugh and Peter and the 
three Darby men-at-arms entered this court 
from the street and sauntered about. It was 
very cool and comfortable under the palms 
and stars—and quiet; the nightingales were 
calling; the fountains gently plashed and 
gurgled; and from a distance sounded the 
strains of a harp splendidly played. Acre 
had, as always, been terribly hot during the 
day, and this quiet place, after passage 
through the crowded streets, was like a bit 
of Paradise. Occasionally they saw a vague 
form flitting on the stone platform among 
the pillars and arches; but, except for these 
figures, the place was deserted. 

Hugh Willock had little eye for the 
beauty of the court; he was impatient. He 


202 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


wiped his hand across his sweaty face and 
cast his keen glance about. With his eyes 
upon the tessellated j^avement, he strode 
down the court, halting suddenly. Placing 
his foot on a black stone, he paced along the 
edge of the platform, and then came to a halt 
again and tapped a white stone with the tip 
of his great sword. 

“ Take this up,” he ordered, curtly. 

Two of the Darby men kneeled at once, 
and with short, heavy knives worked about 
the stone to loosen it. 

“ Make haste, dogs,” said Hugh, “ if you 
would keep steel from your gullets. Two 
gold pieces for each of you if we get what 
we are here for.” He turned to Richard, 
his scar drawn tight and showing livid in the 
starlight. “ If any come, boy,” he whis¬ 
pered, grimly, ‘‘ we stand.” 

Richard nodded, his face also grim. He 
felt the fascination of treasure-hunting now, 
and, like Hugh, he had no mind to delay the 
quest or to leave like sheep if others came to 
dispute their right. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 203 

The two men-at-arms worked hard and 
fast, while the rest of the group stood near 
by, glancing about the court among the 
palms. 

The diggers at length loosened the square 
of marble and turned it upon the pavement 
with a clink. 

“ Now, dig! ” commanded Hugh, lean¬ 
ing over, his fierce face glowing with eager¬ 
ness. 

With their stout knives the fellows dug in 
the earth under the upturned square. 

“ Somebody’s coming!” whispered Peter. 

‘‘Dig!” ordered Willock, savagely, stand¬ 
ing upright and glaring down the court. 

From the other end of the inclosure near 
the street entrance came the sound of coarse 
laughter, the shuffle of feet, and the clink- 
clank and jangle of steel. It was evident 
that a body of unruly soldiers had come from 
the street, although, as the palms and gar¬ 
dens in the center intervened, Richard and 
Hugh could not see them. 

The two diggers continued their work 


204 


THE YOUNG CKUSADEE 


without looking up. They feared Hugh 
more than a clash in which he would be on 
their side. 

“ I strike something hard, sir,” announced 
one of them, excitedly. 

Hugh pushed the speaker aside, took the 
knife from his hand, and himself began to 
dig, his fierce eyes glittering. 

“Ah!” he exclaimed aloud; and as he 
spoke he drew a small box from the hole and 
gained his feet. “ Replace the dirt and 
block, you lazy dogs.” He held the box out 
triumphantly toward Richard. 

As the Darby men obeyed his orders, and 
with their hands scooped the earth back into 
the cavity, a number of men came about the 
garden at the end of the court. The in¬ 
truders, all glittering in steel caps and shirts 
of mesh, halted abruptly, then called out in 
French. At their shout other men came into 
view and joined them. 

“ At least twenty,” said Hugh Willock, 
coolly, “ and not in their right senses—and 
French. The saints only know how many 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


205 


are just outside.” He slipped the casket 
under his loose tunic, but its bulk showed 
plainly. 

The two Darby men replaced the marble 
square and arose, stolid, but bringing their 
swords forward. 

Richard glanced at the many doors in the 
side of the mosque, but they were all closed. 
He saw in an instant that the hesitating men 
down the court were suspicious of them, and 
he knew it would be impossible for Hugh 
and himself and his Darby men to pass 
safely the way they had come. To run 
about the garden to gain the street gate was 
foolish, because some of the men would think 
of the gate and guard it, and, further, be¬ 
cause, as Hugh said, it was impossible to tell 
how many might be in the street just out¬ 
side the entrance. 

“ We must go over the wall,” he said. 
“ Sam ”—^he nodded toward one of his vas¬ 
sals, a tall broad man—‘‘ can give us his 
back. Dick and Peter can go up first, and 
with their crossbows stand off a rush. You 



206 THE YOUNG CEUSADEK 

and I and Hedon can follow, and we’ll draw 
Sam after us.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Hugh. “ That will give 
us time to make away in the street down at 
the end. It is well thought.” 

They had delayed too long, quick as their 
decision had been, for even as Hugh spoke 
four men issued from the gardens directly 
opposite them and staggeringly approached. 
They were rough, fierce-looking fellows, 
with sweating, flushed faces, and, while 
laughing, were in a mood to make trouble. 

“ You’ve been digging,” said the foremost 
in broken English, his keen eyes having 
noted the earth on the pavement. 

“ You see things,” returned Hugh, con¬ 
temptuously. 

“ Digging,” repeated the soldier. He 
stared at Hugh, and suddenly noted 
the betraying bulge of his tunic. His 
eyes widened and glowed, and his jaw 
sagged. 

His three companions observed Hugh’s 
burden at the same time, and they stared at 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


207 


him queerly and instinctively fumbled at 
their great hilts. 

“ What you got? ” demanded the first 
soldier, speaking in French, as he lurched 
forward toward the great Englishman. 

His three friends also approached the little 
knot of English, their inflamed faces savage; 
and the men at the end of the court were now 
coming forward. There was no time to be 
lost. 

Hugh Willock was not a man to hesitate 
when he thought time for action had come. 
As the persistent questioner came within 
reach, he dashed his free hand in the fellow’s 
face and sent him sprawling. With a cry to 
Richard, he turned and ran toward the end 
of the court. 

Richard and Peter and the three men-at- 
arms followed at his heels. 

When Hugh struck the too-inquisitive 
crusader, the other three Frenchmen 
whipped out their blades, and, cursing, 
followed the fleeting party. One of them 
shouted out the French battle-cry. 


208 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


“ The English have found gold! ” roared 
another, beckoning to the men down the 
court. 

The crowd of soldiers whom Richard and 
Hugh had first seen answered this call in a 
fierce, jumbling roar, and with a great clat¬ 
tering came running down the pavement. 

Hugh gained the wall first, and turned as 
his party joined him. 

Sam, the big man, drew out his sword and 
then bent his back for a way to the top of the 
wall, and his two comrades and Richard un¬ 
sheathed their blades and stood before him in 
a living wall to hold off the first pursuers. 

“You go up, Peter,” commanded Rich¬ 
ard, “ and stand on the top of the wall with 
your bow.” 

Peter clambered to Sam’s broad shoulders 
and managed to gain the top of the wall. 
When there, he unslung his bow and notched 
a bolt. 

Bedlam was now loose in the court. The 
party of soldiers came rushing on with flash¬ 
ing swords, shouting their battle-cry. Be- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


209 


yond the walls came the sound of other men 
taking up the cry, until it seemed as if the 
city were aroused. 

Hugh withdrew the casket from beneath 
his tunic and pressed it upon Richard. 

“You go next,” he said, and, as Richard 
took the box, he drew his monstrous sword 
and took his place. “Stand back!” he 
roared to the wild press of men who were 
nearing the wall. “ The man on the wall 
will shoot the first.” 

Sheathing Goodwill, Richard gained 
Sam’s back. He placed the casket on the 
wall and then nimbly joined Peter. He 
had hated to leave Hugh’s side, but delay 
would have been fatal. 

The French crusaders, lustful for gold 
and fierce with hatred of the men with whom 
they had fought side bj^ side, hemmed in the 
group by the wall, but halted at a few paces 
when Hugh fiercely bade them stand. 

“ Go you next,” said Willock to the Darby 
man on the right, and that stout fellow will¬ 
ingly enough turned to Sam’s ready back 


210 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


and climbed to the wall, when there string¬ 
ing his bow and making ready to aid Peter. 

The howling Frenchmen pressed closer, 
but still hesitated before Hugh’s sword and 
the menace of the crossbows on the wall. 

“Now, you!” snapped Willock to the 
other man, and then he stood alone in the 
court before Sam. 

The second man-at-arms gained the wall 
and reinforced the others with his bow. 

“Hurry! Hurry, Hugh!” cried Rich¬ 
ard. “ There are others coming in the 
court.” 

“ And I see some turning into the street 
below us,” bawled the fellow who had just 
reached the top of the wall. 

“ Make way for me,” responded Hugh, 
calmly. On the instant of speaking he 
slipped his sword into its scabbard, turned, 
and, leaping upon Sam’s back, scrambled to 
the wall with the agility of a tiger cat. 

Sam was now left alone, backed against 
the wall with the infuriated Frenchmen 
pressing in upon him with gleaming swords. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 211 

He drew his burly form erect and faced them 
with his great blade. 

Shoot at the first thrust!” ordered Hugh, 
savagely. '' Now^ boy! ” He dropped upon 
his stomach upon the wall, Richard immedi¬ 
ately doing likewise by his side, both stretch¬ 
ing down with their hands to grasp Sam 
when he turned and leaped. “ Up with 
you!” roared Hugh, suddenly. “Now!” 

Sam sheathed his sword coolly, knowing 
well he would not be deserted, then turned 
and leaped upward without a second’s hesita¬ 
tion, counting upon aid. 

The crowd pushed in to get this last man, 
and then Peter and the other two men with 
bows fired at the foremost, their deadly 
bolts finding marks and momentarily halting 
the swordsmen. That pause, slight as it 
was, saved Sam. As he shot into the air, 
Richard and Hugh grasped his wrists and 
with desperate haste drew him to the top, 
just as the men below leaped over their fallen 
comrades to cut him down in mid-air. 

“ Very entertaining,” commented Hugh, 


212 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


coolly, grinning down at the upturned furi¬ 
ous faces, and he took possession of the little 
box which had well-nigh cost all their lives. 

‘‘We had best be seeking entertainment 
elsewhere,” responded Richard just as 
coolly. “ There are men below us in the 
street. Let us go.” 

“ Right, boy.” 

Without further words the six adventurers 
dropped from the wall into the street, like 
over-ripe plums from a tree. 

There was an uproar to the east of the 
mosque and in the court. The French 
battle-cry was ringing out, accompanied by 
shouts from the court to guide those outside 
in the search for the pursued. 

The street in which Richard and Hugh 
found themselves was comparatively' de¬ 
serted, however, although men were now 
turning the corner to look for them, not 
knowing the cause of trouble, but merely 
that certain Englishmen were fleeing from 
their own comrades-at-arms. 

They had no desire to engage in any un- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


213 


necessary brawl, and, with their men follow¬ 
ing, fled under cover of the buildings and 
kept on till they had outdistanced their 
pursuers. 

Dropping into a walk at length, they 
passed into the square and merged them¬ 
selves with the throngs passing to and fro. 
All pursuit was now ended, and, keeping 
together, they made their way leisurely to 
Richard’s comfortable dwelling by the sea¬ 
wall. 

In the court Hugh Willock, in high good 
humor, made good his word to the men-at- 
arms and paid them, and, moreover, he gave 
Peter a gold piece and a word of praise. 

The two friends went up at once to the 
chamber looking out to sea, and Hugh, with 
some difficulty, opened the chest, his fierce 
face and eyes glistening with anticipation. 

The old crusader had not been deceived, 
for the box contained a fair treasure in gold 
and precious stones, and he was delighted 
beyond measure. 

“By the Cross!” he exclaimed. “My 


214 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


share will make me rich, and ITl buy land 
near you, Richard, and leave war.” 

“ The crusade is not yet over.” 

“No,” said Hugh. 

“ And you are not safe in England.” 

“ No,” agreed Hugh again. “ But croak 
not, lad,” he cried with a laugh. “ It is not 
like you.” He turned out upon the table 
the coins and gems, and with deliberation 
and great fairness made two piles, until he 
had made the division upon which they had 
agreed. He constantly referred to Richard 
for opinion in making this division, but Rich¬ 
ard always smilingly told him to do as he 
listed. “ This pile is yours, Richard,” he 
said, pointing to one of the glittering piles. 

Richard shook his head. 

“ No—the king’s.” 

“ Aye, then the king’s.” Hugh looked at 
him soberly, and his words came haltingly. 

“ And His Majesty,” said Richard with a 
smile, “ directed me to give his share to one 
Hugh Willock, a dear friend of mine.” 

Hugh stared at him, his jaw dropped, and 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


215 


a blank expression crept over his seamed, 
bronzed visage, to change suddenly to one of 
extreme delight. The red blood flamed in 
his sun-tanned face, and his deep-set eyes 
glowed. 

“ You do not jest! ’’ 

Richard shook his head, delighted at 
Hugh’s surprise. 

“ I do not jest. The king gives it to 
you.” 

“Nay!” cried Hugh. '"You give it!” 
He stared at the treasure as if entranced by 
it. Suddenly he swept it all into the casket, 
and stood looking at the young baron with 
a look of uncertainty, yet with a curiously 
softened face. “ Would you love me the 
more, Richard, if I gave every last jewel and 
gold piece to the Cross? ” 

Richard arose, his eyes shining, and put 
out his hand. 

“ I could not love you more. Sir Hugh,” 
he returned, “ but I would have you keep it 
all to buy lands in Devon.” 

“ And yet you would not be angry were 


216 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


I to yield it all to our lord, Richard of the 
Lion Heart? Somehow, boy, you make old 
Hugh Willock feel that to do the good thing 
is the best course,—that there is no rest else.” 

“ Then, Sir Hugh, you have not jour- 
ne^^ed to Palestine in vain,” returned Rich¬ 
ard, soberly. 

Hugh laughed and shook his great 
shoulders. 

‘‘ No,” said the boy. “ I do not wish you 
to yield a single piece to Cross or king. It 
is yours. So Richard himself decreed.” 

The two friends clasped hands in a steel¬ 
like grip of affection and understanding, and 
said no more about the treasure. And yet 
that very night Willock sought the king and 
tendered him the whole of the treasure taken 
from the courtyard of the mosque. The 
Lion-Hearted refused the offering, so, with 
a clear conscience, Hugh called the casket 
and its contents his own. 


CHAPTER XI 


P LEADING illness of himself and his 
son and the pressure of home affairs, 
Philip of France embarked from 
Acre, abandoning the crusade and leaving to 
fight in his name three hundred knights and 
a thousand foot-soldiers. 

Coeur de Lion made no strong effort to 
hold his faint-hearted ally to their common 
vow, and he bade him farewell without re¬ 
gret, merely exacting from him the promise 
that he ‘‘ would not wittingly or wilfully do 
any harm against his men and lands so long 
as he continued in his pilgrimage.’’ Know¬ 
ing Philip well, he realized that by remaining 
in the East he was hazarding his crown in 
the west, for he believed the French king 
might join with his brother, John, against 
him; but He truly thought then that it would 
be a comparatively easy matter for him to 
push south and win the Holy City. 

Immediately after the departure of the 

217 


218 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


French, Richard made preparations to leave 
Acre and begin the march toward Jerusalem. 

When the march at length began, and the 
crusaders moved southward along the coast, 
he learned something of the hazards and dif¬ 
ficulties that lay before him. The infidels, 
superbly mounted and unencumbered with 
armor of iron, were seemingly without 
number. They were brave and persistent, 
and from the first mile from Acre they con¬ 
stantly harassed the flanks of the Christian 
army. The heat of day was well-nigh un¬ 
bearable to the men from the west, in their 
steel breastplates and padded coats, and 
fevers and winged and crawling pests of 
various kinds made their trials indescribable. 

Then came the battle of Arsuf, the re¬ 
building of Ascalon, which Saladin had dis¬ 
mantled, the siege of Darum, and the heroic 
relief of Jaffa. 

The crusaders left their dead along the 
shore in hundreds, but, with incredible brav¬ 
ery and endurance, pressed on and on, fight¬ 
ing all the time. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


219 


All through this march, through battle 
and siege, sand-storm and fever, in victory 
and defeat, Richard of England, whatever 
his faults, loomed as a heroic leader, undis¬ 
mayed, ever cheerful, ever brave, ever the 
lion-hearted, giving enthusiasm and always 
leading. 

But all these trials and endeavors of a 
heroic body, whose great deeds will never die, 
were unavailing; the climate, the pests, the 
scorching sun, were against them; and yet 
the great king of England pressed Saladin 
so closely as to make the Moslem cold with 
the fear of defeat, although for months the 
two kings, each admiring the other, ex¬ 
changed many courtesies. Saladin, hard 
pressed as he was, could not restrain his ad¬ 
miration for the Lion-Hearted, and, indeed, 
declared that if he were to lose his kingdom 
he would rather lose it to Richard than to 
any other prince he had ever seen. 

Internal dissensions were still rife among 
the crusaders, and it is no wonder Richard’s 
heart at length grew weary of the whole 


220 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


campaign. To make matters worse, at 
Furbia envoys from England came to Hich- 
ard with letters from his mother, telling of 
intrigues between his perfidious brother, 
John, and King Philip. Richard was torn 
with doubt. England called him, and yet in 
the end he decided to remain in Palestine and 
try still to wring victory from adverse 
fortune. 

At this time he began to lean not a little 
upon Richard of Devon, who, through all 
trials and battles, had been at his side, always 
ready, firm, cheerful, and dauntless. 

And yet, in spite of all, Coeur de Lion 
came one day within sight of the desired 
city—Jerusalem. 

One night the scouts brought news of a 
Saracen caravan traveling east a few miles 
from the Christian camp, and Cceur de Lion, 
with Richard, Hugh Willock, and other 
knights and part of the Darby men, left their 
ground and succeeded in waylaying the Mos¬ 
lems and defeating them after a sharp 
struggle. 



THE YOUNH CKUSADEE 


221 


This little victory, which cost the Turks 
about twenty men, gave the king a number 
of camels and mules and horses, as well as 
provisions and garments; and, moreover, 
among the men made prisoners was Saladin’s 
own herald. 

Sending the caravan back toward camp 
under guard, Richard and his fighting min¬ 
strel and other personal followers pushed on 
rapidly among the hills in pursuit of those 
who had escaped. The infidels, however, 
eluded them. 

Morning, bright and clear and scorching 
hot, found the king upon the summit of Nebi 
Samwil, from which a great expanse lies 
before the eyes. Here Richard of England, 
alone save for his handful of men, had to 
halt. 

“ Sire,” cried Hugh Willock, stepping 
near and bowing low, “ if you will but come 
forward I will show you the wall of the Holy 
City in the sun afar off.” 

The king bent his head, his eyes misty. 

‘‘Nayl” he cried. “I will not look. 


222 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


Heaven! let me not put my eyes upon the 
city I cannot deliver from thine enemies!” 
He turned abruptly away. 

Hugh touched Richard of Devon on the 
elbow, and led him, with shining, rapturous 
eyes, along the mountain-top and pointed 
toward the horizon. 

“There, boy,” he said. “Look! There 
stands Jerusalem! You can see her walls 
glisten like steel.” 

Richard strained his gaze east, and saw the 
glint of the walls of the far-off city. 

“ I see! ” he said in a low tone. “ I see.” 
Dropping his head, he turned and rejoined 
his lord. 

“ Even as the old soothsayer in Dartmouth 
said,” muttered Hugh to himself awesomely. 
“ He has seen—but I think he shall never 
enter there.” He was sad for the boy, but 
he was thinking also of his gold. If all the 
soothsayer’s prophecies held true, little 
would his treasure avail him. 

Further battles and delays followed, as 
all the accounts tell, but the time came when 














I 


1 


J. 


9 



i 




‘.'J 



THE YOUNG CEUSADER 223 

infidel and Christian alike welcomed a truce 
for several years. When the treaty, which 
allowed Christians to make pilgrimages to 
the Holy City, was signed, Richard of Eng¬ 
land, sick of heart and of body, turned back 
toward Acre, refusing to go to Jerusalem. 

In private the king made no concealment 
of his anxiety over the news from England, 
and it was his intention to sail from Acre as 
soon as he was able. 

“ I shall have hot, quick work for you, 
boy,” he told Richard, to whom he spoke 
always in great frankness. “ I shall squeeze 
brother John!” He held out his mighty 
hand and clenched it, while his face darkened 
in a way that boded ill for his treacherous 
representative. “ And then,” he went on, 
“ I shall press Philip of France. It will not 
be difficult. John is a coward, and Philip 
is a fool and a coward to boot. Have you 
made such preparations for leaving here as 
I have directed? ” 

“ Yes, Your Majesty,” returned Richard. 
“ Many of your men have already sailed.” 


224 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


“ We shall leave in a few days,” said the 
king, sitting upright on the divan set in a 
window overlooking the shady, spacious 
palace gardens. 

“ You are strong enough to travel, sire? ” 

“ Aye, strong enough to travel,” returned 
the king with a flashing eye; “ strong enough 
to go southward again if I had all English— 
and time.” 

“ The treaty would forbid,” put in Rich¬ 
ard with his boyish smile. 

“Treaty!” Coeur de Lion turned upon 
his stalwart minstrel. “ Treaties can be 
broken—like twigs.” 

“ But not yours, sire.” . 

Richard of the Lion Heart scowled for a 
moment; then his face cleared and he 
laughed. 

“ You are very jealous of our royal honor, 
boy.” 

“ Your Majesty speaks truly—I am,” 
said Richard, simply, and he bore the king’s 
eye for a moment and then respectfully in¬ 
clined his head. 



THE YOUNG CRUSADEE 


225 


“ If all had been as jealous of it—and 
as valiant and uncomplaining—as you,” 
growled the great warrior, with contained 
passion, “ our camp would this very night 
be in Jerusalem! ” He turned away and 
fixed his fierce, glowing eyes outside in the 
general direction of that city which he had 
been unable to deliver—the greatest dream 
of his stormy life. 

Preparations for the embarkation of the 
English crusaders were now pushed rapidly 
on. One ship after another sailed from 
Acre on the long and perilous voyage to 
England. The king’s wife and sister left 
Palestine before Richard, and then came the 
time when the Lion-Hearted himself was to 
sail. 

When the last body of soldiers had gone, 
Richard set sail from the shores of Palestine 
in a single vessel, accompanied only by Rich¬ 
ard of Devon, Willock, and others of his 
personal following. 

On the bright morning of departure the 
great king sat alone under his awning, his 


226 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


arms folded uj)on his enormous chest, his 
eyes set upon the dimming shores of that 
land where he had won undying fame—and 
failed. 

Richard and Hugh Willock were much 
together in the little ship, and Willock was 
openly delighted to have his young com¬ 
panion at his elbow again. 

“ I mistrust the sea, boy,” growled Hugh, 
glancing about over the glimmering waters, 
his eyes squinting in the dazzling sun. Un¬ 
moved by any dangers of land or battle, the 
fierce old crusader upon the water was as 
nervous as a cat. 

“ I love it,” returned Richard, for the 
smell of the sea was dear to him, even from 
earliest childhood. 

“ I like not this going back and forth to 
suit every puff of wind,” complained Hugh, 
whose way it was to go straight toward his 
object. 

Richard laughed heartily at his friend’s 
querulous words, and Hugh laughed also, 
for he knew well enough the necessity for 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 227 

tacking, or, as he said, “ going back and 
forth to suit every puff of wind/’ 

The voyage proved tiresome and trying 
to all on board, for head-winds and storms 
fought and baffled them from the first day 
out from Acre; and a whole month was spent 
in beating up the Mediterranean. At the 
end of this time Richard turned from his 
course, his vessel seeming to him unsea¬ 
worthy, and put into Corfu, where the entire 
ship’s company joyfully set foot on solid 
earth. 

“ I shall sail not a rood farther in that 
ship,” declared the king to Richard and his 
knights when they had landed. He turned 
to his minstrel. “ Seek you suitable vessels 
to carry us to Ragusa and Zara.” 

“ Your Majesty mayhap designs to 
journey homeward by land,” put in Willock. 
He had never been in the king’s council, but 
in astonishment he spoke boldly, surprise 
showing in his bronzed, scarred visage. 

“ Y"es,” returned Coeur de Lion, curtly, 
bending his gaze upon the stalwart veteran. 


228 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


“ Sir Hugh Willock thinks of the dangers 
of it to Your Majesty’s very person,” put in 
Sir Baldwin, one of the king’s most loyal 
knights. “ And, sire, I think him in the 
right; I have counseled against this plan. 
Men accuse you of the murder of Conrad of 
Tyre, and his kinsfolk are bitter against you. 
Men accuse you, too, of taking gifts from 
Saladin, and—playing false.” 

The king turned his eyes darkly upon Sir 
Baldwin, but the knight went on fearlessly. 

“You must pass, sire, through the lands 
of many of your enemies. Henry of Ger¬ 
many, believing in his right to Sicily, holds 
grudge against you for your aid to Tancred; 
Leopold is powerful, and hates you; and 
near home you must venture within the grasp 
of Philip, who is now in league with your 
unworthy brother.” 

“Enough!” said Richard, sharply. “I 
know that many would like to compass my 
ruin and death, but we shall pass safely home 
in disguise as pilgrims, and no man shall 
know that the king of England is come till 


THE YOUJ^G CRUSADER 


229 


I front the perfidious son of my father.” 
The king drew his massive form erect, and 
fire flashed from his eyes. Impatience and 
bitterness ran in his blood; the thought of 
the failure of his great venture and of 
treachery from many friends burned in him; 
and he longed to set foot in his island king¬ 
dom and enter London sword in hand. 

“ Richard,” he cried, turning to his faith¬ 
ful young singer, “ secure me, as I have said, 
suitable vessels for all who would go north 
by land with their lord. I see your dear 
love, Willock, would not be of us—though 
I honor his sword.” The king had never 
liked Hugh, and, mighty king as he was, he 
was rather jealous of him because of Rich¬ 
ard’s friendship. 

“ You wrong me, sire,” exclaimed Hugh, 
boldlv and earnestly. “No man can serve 
you more truly than I have done—and will. 
I go with you. I cannot bear the sea.” 

The king laughed. “ Then,” said he, “ go 
with my boy and aid him in securing vessels.” 

After giving Richard further instructions. 




230 THE YOUNG CKUSADER 

Coeur de Lion turned to Baldwin to discuss 
the matter of disguises for all who were to 
journey overland. 

Richard and Hugh, accompanied by three 
men-at-arms, set off along the shores of 
Corfu to buy or charter a vessel to take the 
king to Ragusa. It was no easy task to 
find suitable carriers for the party. Vessels 
were scarce, and, moreover, the waterside 
people of Corfu had no love for the return¬ 
ing Englishmen. Chance, however, threw 
them into contact with a lean, hawk-faced 
seafarer named Gorz, who more than hinted 
that he was a pirate. The rascal professed 
a great admiration for Coeur de Lion, of 
whom he had heard much; and, with many 
strange oaths, expressed a willingness to put 
himself and his vessel at the disposal of the 
English party. 

Richard and Hugh trusted Gorz not at all, 
and looked with some doubt at the swarm of 
dark-skinned villains on board his craft. As 
their own party v^ould be large and well 
armed, however, and more than a match for 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


231 


treble the crew of knife-bristling rascals, they 
concluded a bargain with the pirate and re¬ 
turned to the king without further delay. 

Not all of those who had come from Acre 
with the king could go north for the ex¬ 
tremely perilous trip by land, and, therefore, 
a number would be obliged to sail from 
Corfu on the vessel on which they had 
arrived. 

Coeur de Lion found himself now con¬ 
fronted with a pleasing problem. Every 
man, from the lowest to the highest, declared 
himself willing to accompany him, many 
even begging to be with him, and he was 
obliged to select those who should go with 
his person. 

Richard of Devon, of course, was to be of 
the land party, and Peter, who had served 
him with the utmost love and devotion, wept 
when he knew he must return to England 
masterless. Richard was deeply affected by 
Peter’s love, and he gripped his vassal’s hand 
and bade him farewell with wet eyes,—for, 
lord as he was, he loved the low-born man 


232 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


who had served him so faithfully,—giving 
him many a charge for home. 

‘‘ I would go with you! ” cried Peter, his 
honest eyes overflowing. “ Who else can 
serve ^mu as I can? ” 

“ Why, no one,” answered Richard, 
kindly; “no one, dear Peter. Y^ou are a 
good vassal, and, heaven granting me a safe 
return, you shall have free land in Darby. 
Yes, and you shall have that land in any 
event, for it is set forth in the writings I am 
sending my sister through you.” 

Peter laughed chokingly. “ Who can 
serve you as I can? ” he repeated. 

“ You must return as I say,” said Rich¬ 
ard, firmly. “ Y^ou will serve me best by so 
doing. Sir Hugh’s Hazri goes with you.” 

“ He is a Saracen! ” exclaimed Peter. 

“ And yet he grieves to part with Sir 
Hugh, Peter.” 

Peter made no response, and after a time 
he became calm. He kissed Richard’s hand 
in the end, and, with fidelity in his simple, 
loyal heart, went to his quarters. 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


233 


King Richard, with his goodly company 
of pilgrims,—stout, keen-eyed, sunburned 
men, who wore swords and daggers under 
their brown robes,—embarked with Gorz on 
the turn of the tide and began the sail up 
the Adriatic. 

When they weighed anchor the weather 
was threatening, and the wind at length be¬ 
came a gale; but Gorz was a master sailor, 
and handled his craft with consummate skill. 

The storm followed the vessel up the coast 
persistently, however, and increased in vio¬ 
lence from hour to hour until all feared the 
laboring craft would not live. The sea rolled 
tremendously, and, beaten by the violent 
wind, the vessel rolled and pitched unceas¬ 
ingly in the mountainous waves, with the 
brine seething across the open decks. 

Night fell upon the day of the worst of 
the storm, making the terror of the wild sea 
and howling gale still greater, and all on 
board the laboring, straining ship offered up 
their prayers and entreaties for deliver¬ 


ance. 



234 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


“We must make land around the next 
spit, King,” roared Gorz that night, sadly, 
but unafraid, “ or else we shall go down, for 
we have sprung a great leak.” 

“ Then land,” returned Richard, coolly, 
knowing well that there was no place of 
shelter or safe landing. 

Gorz, who really admired the king to a 
point near devotion, went above, and with 
curses and blows drove his crew to their 
work. On through the pitch-black night 
they plunged in the terrible seas, and, guided 
by Gorz, rounded the point he had in mind 
and drove toward the shore—marked to his 
eyes by the gloom of hills and after a time 
by the dull white of the great surf thunder¬ 
ing along the beach. On and on the gallant 
little vessel pitched toward the land, until 
at length, under the hand of the fearless, 
skillful old sea rascal, she went aground with 
a mighty thud and a shock that sent every 
man from his feet. The waters rolled over 
her as she lay quivering there in the night, 
but Gorz labored like a Hercules, and, with 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 235 

skill and might and courage, put all ashore— 
save four who were washed overboard. 

With the wind howling about them and 
the furious sea thundering upon their left, 
the king of England and Richard and all 
the company—crusaders and pirates—knelt 
down in the darkness among the rocks and 
gave thanks for rescue from death in the sea. 



CHAPTER XII 


T he strength of the great storm blew 
out in the night, and the ship¬ 
wrecked company awoke to a clear, 
bright morning. Gorz examined his vessel 
at the first opportunity, but found it beaten 
into a shapeless mass and rapidly disinte¬ 
grating. 

Coeur de Lion paid the seaman gener¬ 
ously, even above his due, and during the day 
the pirates in a body departed and set off 
southward along the coast. 

According to the rascally old seaman, the 
king and his followers were ashore between 
Aquileia and Venice, and there was nothing 
to do but to press forward on foot. Richard 
realized the difficulties and dangers before 
him, but believed his disguise as a pilgrim 
safe enough. Hundreds, and even thou¬ 
sands, of pilgrims and warriors were tramp¬ 
ing homeward all over Europe, and he had 

no doubt he would be safe. 

236 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


237 


Soon after Gorz and his crew had gone, 
the king began the long journey for home. 

Richard and Hugh Willock walked to¬ 
gether by the sea, close to the king and Sir 
Baldwin. Now and then, during the first 
mile or two, Hugh came to a halt and looked 
back. 

“ By the Cross! ” he exclaimed at length, 
upon one of these halts, “ I begin to believe 
in the old soothsayer of Dartmouth. He 
foretold much of the truth about you, and I 
now doubt not that I shall land in England 
empty of purse. All my good fortune, save 
a few gold pieces, I have left behind me 
there, buried in the sea.” 

‘‘ I’m sorry,” returned Richard, “ hut you 
have won honor, the admiration of our lord, 
and I bethink me the old soothsayer said you 
would find wealth in England.” 

Hugh grinned. “ He said even so—true. 
I shall be spared the trouble of carrying it,” 
he added, dryly. 

For several days the party pushed slowly 
along on foot. They were not used to walk- 



238 


THE YOUNG CEUSADEK 


ing, and, because of that and the uncertainty 
of their position, they made slow progress. 
It was deemed wise to follow the coast until 
they were in sure knowledge of their way, 
and this caution added many a long mile to 
their journey. 

Upon one occasion they fell in with a large 
body of men who had apparently come 
ashore from some pirate vessel, and these 
fierce fellows, scenting wealth among so 
large a body of pilgrims, and never suspect¬ 
ing the travelers to be seasoned crusaders 
armed to the teeth, spread themselves laugh¬ 
ingly across the way and bade the meek body 
come to a halt for a plucking. Too late 
they saw that the seeming doves were eagles. 

Coeur de Lion, wroth at the indignity from 
these rough villains, cried out fiercely, and, 
against a word of caution from Richard and 
Baldwin, whipped his great blade from 
under his robe and ordered his party to fol¬ 
low. 

The pilgrims, gidm veterans of many a 
battle, were not slow to obey the king, and. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


239 


sword in hand, they bore down upon the 
rabble like a resistless wave, and, although 
stoutly opposed, soon put them to rout. 

“ ’Tis a dear-bought victory,” said Coeur 
de Lion, regretfully, when the fray was over 
and the pirates were scuttling off like rabbits 
among the rocks and thickets. 

Three of his gentlemen lay prone in the 
sunshine, quite dead, and several others were 
faint from blows or loss of blood. 

“ I like it not, sire,” put in Baldwin. “ It 
would have been better if we had stood and 
given up a few gold pieces.” 

The king threw back his massive head, and 
glanced at his loyal friend with flashing eye. 

“ Think you the king of England stands 
to a handful of louts like a peddler! ” 

“ Nay, sire, but I fear those villains will 
carry news of this fray and you afar, as on 
the four winds. It is not well that men 
should know the king of England travels by 
land homeward. I like it very little.” 

At these words Hugh nodded to Richard 
in agreement. 


240 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


“ He is right, boy,” he said in a low tone. 
“ Those rascals know full well that no ordi¬ 
nary man was here, and the news will travel 
like the light and search us out wherever we 
go. You are near the king’s heart, and you 
must whisper a caution to our lord, although 
I doubt not it is much too late.” 

“ Did it not make your blood boil, Hugh, 
to see those rascals front us? ” 

“Aye, of course,” answered the stalwart 
swordsman, “ but I agree with Sir Baldwin. 
When you proclaim yourself a barnyard 
fowl you must not scream and swoop like an 
eagle. This gallant fight—for those fellows 
opposed us in goodly fashion—is, I fear, a 
defeat for us.” 

After burying the dead with a brief cere¬ 
mony, and attending to the wounded, Coeur 
de Lion and his followers pushed on as be¬ 
fore. 

During the day Richard, who was much 
with the king, made occasion to preach 
caution to his lord. 

The king was free to admit that the fight 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


241 


was unfortunate; but, of course, there was 
nothing to do but to keep on the way and 
try to escape the net of his many enemies. 
It was certain that there would go abroad, 
with the amazing speed with which such news 
travels, rumor that Coeur de Lion was 
journeying afoot in disguise. 

For several days, however, no untoward 
event occurred; but late one afternoon, as 
they made camp in a grove near the sea, a 
stranger came from the shore and boldly 
walked amidst the group of stalwart pil¬ 
grims. He was a dark, squat man, with a 
hook nose and piercing black eyes. He was 
dressed in soft, tan-colored leather; golden 
hoops dangled from his ears; and in his belt 
of crimson stuff was a curved sword and 
two daggers. He approached the king 
unhesitatingly, hat in hand and bowing 
low. 

“ I remember vou in Acre,” said Coeur 
de Lion at once, his keen glance upon the 
man. 

“And I, sire,” returned the stranger in 


242 THE YOUNG CKUSADEE 

broken English, “ remember you and your 

mercy. You saved me from death-” 

Which probably you deserved.” 

The dark man grinned slightly and out¬ 
spread his hands in a quick gesture. “Yet 
—I remember,” he said, “ and am none the 
less grateful. Word goes up the coast, my 
lord, that the king of England walks. I 
know the country and the language, and I 
come to pay a debt.” 

“ What think you, Richard? ” asked the 
king, turning to his minstrel. 

“ I think the man would be an honest 
guide, sire,” answered Richard. “ I now 
recall him and his vow to serve Your Maj¬ 
esty upon occasion.” 

The dark man looked at the boy steadily 
for a moment and bowed, his eyes glowing, 
and, when Coeur de Lion accepted his sei^- 
ice, thanked him for his trusting words. 

When the party moved on the next day, 
Vasci, the dark man, was among them, the 
accepted guide. Every man vowed that he 
should die speedily upon the slightest sign of 




THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


243 


treachery; but, as Richard realized, Vasci 
was in reality grateful to the English king 
and eager to serve him well. He proved a 
valuable man for the party of returning 
crusaders, for, knowing the country, he saved 
them many a weary mile and many a trouble 
in hamlet and on the road. 

“We are now in bad land, sire,” said 
Vasci one morning. 

“ What land, rascal? ” queried the king. 

“ The territory of Count Meinhard, of 
Goritz, sire, the nephew of the noble Marquis 
of Montferrat, whose death many men lay to 
your feet.” 

“Ah! ” exclaimed the king with an angry 
frown. Persistent enemies had made it be¬ 
lieved that he had compassed the death of the 
marquis, although it was not truth. Halt¬ 
ing and turning, he conferred with Richard 
and Baldwin and the others. 

It was deemed wise to try to secure from 
Count Meinhard permission for a body of 
pilgrims to pass through his territory, and 
Coeur de Lion despatched two men to him to 


244 THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


get the passport, sending for a present a 
splendid ruby ring from his finger. The 
messengers were charged to say, if ques¬ 
tioned, that the chief men of the party were 
one Baldwin and a rich merchant named 
Hugh. 

The king and his followers camiDed in the 
woods near the roadside to await the return 
of the messengers, Richard and Hugh Wil- 
lock sitting together under a tree apart, talk¬ 
ing of Darby and making plans for the 
future, 

“ Our messengers are on the return hot¬ 
foot, Richard,’’ announced Hugh, suddenly, 
pointing up the road glimmering in the sun, 
where two running, familiar figures came 
into view. “ They have ill news, I vow,” he 
declared as the men came near. “ Come! ” 
They arose together and joined the rest of 
the party who had pushed out to the road to 
meet the running men. 

The messengers showed bad news in their 
faces. One of the gentlemen, Sir Herbert 
Wynde, held out the king’s glorious ruby. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


245 


“ What’s this? ” demanded the king, as his 
eye fell upon the flashing gem. ‘‘ Speak a 
smooth tale,” he exclaimed, as both the 
winded men began to tell what had occurred 
to send them back on wings. “ You tell. Sir 
Herbert.” 

“We made our request, sire, as charged,” 
began the knight he named, “ and presented 
the ring as from the rich merchant Hugh. 
Meinhard—who must have news of Your 
Majesty—studied it long. ‘ This,’ said he 
presently, ‘ belongs to Richard, the king of 
England. It could belong to no other man. 
I have sworn to seize all pilgrims from those 
parts, but I will return this gift and give him 
free leave to depart.’ ” 

“Treachery!” exclaimed Baldwin, in¬ 
stantly. “ He means to seize thee, sire.” 

“ Aye! ” cried both the messengers, 
fiercely. 

Coeur de Lion nodded, his face dark. 

“ He will expect me now to leave openly 
by sea,” he said at length, “ but I will press 
on afoot.” He turned about and looked into 


246 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


the faces of the quiet group. “ Richard, you 
go with me, and Sir Herbert will also come. 
The rest of you gentlemen will abide here for 
a day, and then seek conveyance by sea.” 

No move was made during the day, but at 
nightfall the king and Richard of Devon and 
Sir Herbert, after a quiet leave-taking, crept 
from the encampment and started north¬ 
ward. 

The king and his two young followers, for 
Sir Herbert was but a young man, went on 
resolutely, sometimes traveling by day, but 
mostly at night. They were without a 
knowledge of the country; they had no com¬ 
pass or map, and dared ask little of the way. 
Although they did not know it then, in their 
zigzag route they were making toward 
Vienna, the city of the king’s most bitter 
personal foe. 

They did not bear themselves like fugi¬ 
tives, for all were men who feared little— 
who feared no other men. They chatted 
gayly and freely, talking of courts and of 
wars. Coeur de Lion, while never forgetting 



THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


247 


he was a great king, was a pleasant com¬ 
panion. He called often upon Richard for 
song and story in lonely ways, and with him 
sang the song they had composed together 
before the walls of Acre. But he also spoke 
seriously many times to his beloved young 
minstrel, instructing him in the affairs of 
England and laying bare many of his plans. 
He did not do this idly, for he plainly de¬ 
clared his intention of raising the young man 
to a high rank to serve the crown. He had 
early seen his ability and power to be, and, 
besides, he loved him. He taught him many 
things of state, and made clear to him much 
of his policy concerning both England and 
his holdings in France. It was exceedingly 
fortunate that Coeur de Lion did this, for 
his teaching of the boy minstrel was to save 
him months of bitterness. 

On and on they went, still nearing the 
capital of the king’s great enemy, the Duke 
of Austria. 

One day they descried a great city before 
them in broad plains, and, not knowing what 


248 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


place it was, camped among the hills near 
by. Coeur de Lion had no intention of go¬ 
ing into this city. He sent Herbert below 
for bread and a map, if one could be pro¬ 
cured, and directed young Richard north¬ 
ward to look over the way they had best go 
to skirt the city. 

Richard strolled blithely along, singing to 
himself. Care sat lightly enough upon him. 
To his mind, Richard of England was the 
finest and greatest man in the world; and, 
while he knew the perils about them, it never 
struck him that ill could actually befall his 
lord. 

Having determined upon the road for the 
night’s travel, he turned about and began 
retracing his steps, singing as he went. 

A wrinkled old woman sat near the road 
before a thatched cottage, basking in the late 
sun, as the stalwart English boy strode along 
singing to himself. She arose as Richard 
came near, and on a cane hobbled toward the 
road, looking at him with bright, beady eyes. 

“ .You could sing in a king’s court, boy,” 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


249 


she said, shrilly, nodding her old head em¬ 
phatically. Richard halted and glanced at 
her with a smile. He could not understand 
her words, but saw she was pleased. 

The crone, realizing that here was a for¬ 
eigner, beamed at him and nodded still more, 
and was still nodding as Richard resuihed his 
song and his way. 

The resting-place from which he had 
parted with Coeur de Lion was on a hillside 
in a grove of fine oaks, from which they could 
command a view of the city and here and 
there for miles catch a glimpse of the great 
Danube flashing in the sunshine. It was 
dusk when Richard turned from the high¬ 
way and glided into the forest aisles. He 
pressed eagerly forward through the woods, 
his keen eyes searching. He was used to 
woods and hills, and had the true hunter’s 
sense of location; and yet when he heard no 
sound save his own light tread a thrill of 
fear and dread went through his loyal breast. 
He stood stock-still and peered about among 
the darkening shadows. Absolute silence 


250 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


prevailed, save presently the vesper bells 
coming with a faint silvery tinkle upward 
from the city. Then he sounded the night¬ 
ingale’s notes,—the signal used for weeks,— 
but there was no response. 

“ Peace! ” he exclaimed to himself sternly, 
and with an effort of the will choked off the 
panic that surged upon him like a flood. “ I 
must have made a mistake I ” And yet even 
in the dim light he recognized the spot where 
he had been before, and found near at hand 
a tree from which, as he went out, he had 
torn a piece of bark for a mark to aid his re¬ 
turn. 

Sure of his position, he whistled again. 
No answer, save a slight whispering echo. 
There was no sound at all except the rus¬ 
tling of foliage in the darkening woods, the 
rest-time twittering of birds, and the mellow 
fluting of the far-off languorous bells. 

Again he gave his call, this time loudly, 
even piercingly, and when he had waited full 
five minutes for a response he pushed on 
farther till at length he came to the spot 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


251 


where he had looked down upon Vienna with 
his king. He halted as he reached this 
place and recognized it beyond a doubt. 
Under this oak the king had reclined—he 
had left him there; but now his trained, keen 
eyes saw other signs of human presence— 
the footprints of many men. A cold wave 
swept into his heart. He understood. His 
lord had been sought out and found—sur¬ 
prised. He was taken. He was in the 
hands of his enemies! 

For a moment, in despair and grief, he was 
weak, and he buried his sun-tanned face in 
his hands and sobbed huskily. 

“ O Richard! O my king! ” he groaned, 
clenching his hands. “ Why was I not 
here to die for you! No man should say 
a word of ill to thee while a drop of my blood 
remained. O my king! ” Anguish rang in 
his voice, and showed in his face as he 
glanced about among the shadows. 

As he stood there, grief-stricken, despair¬ 
ing, and yet raging, he realized in what a 
position he remained, for he doubted not that 


252 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


Herbert was taken with the king or lost in 
the city or killed there. He was alone hun¬ 
dreds of leagues from home, a stranger of a 
hated race. What could he do? What could 
one man avail among untold thousands? 

He went slowly down upon his knees, 
and gave thanks for benefits and asked aid 
for days to come. 

Arising at length, he stripped the pil¬ 
grim’s robe from his stalwart person and 
stood there in the night, erect in his good 
brown suit, with Goodwill swinging at his 
thigh, and raised his clenched hand up. 

“ O Richard! ’’ he cried, with a passionate 
catch in his throat. “ O Richard, my king! 
I will seek at every castle-gate in Europe for 
thee, and never see Devon again till I have 
found thee! Dear heaven! hear and aid me.” 

For a moment he was motionless, tense, 
his words dying away on the night wind. 
Then, with the vow deep in his heart, he 
turned, and, leaving the pilgrim’s robe where 
he had cast it, struck off for the road on his 
search for the missing king of England. 


CHAPTER XIII 


U PON reaching the road, he strode 
resolutely away in the direction of 
the city below, which then he did 
not know was Vienna. 

Even in his agitation he had essayed to 
read by signs what had occurred where he 
had last seen the king; but his trained eye 
told him very little—in fact, nothing save 
that many men had been there. He was 
sure Coeur de Lion had not been taken by a 
chance band of robbers, for he knew the king 
would have resisted such to the death; and 
there had been no sign of a struggle. He 
knew, of course, that he was in Austria, 
where his sovereign had powerful enemies, 
and he believed that the king had been 
surprised by a man of high rank to whom he 
had surrendered his mighty sword. In this 
belief he was correct. 

As he swung along among the giant trees 

253 



254 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


or under the stars in some open space, his 
heart beat high with chivalric purpose and 
his handsome face was set in determination. 
There suddenly came to his mind the 
wonderful prophecy made by the soothsayer 
in Dartmouth, so many of whose words had 
come true—“ You shall render unto Eng¬ 
land’s present king a service men shall tell 
a thousand years.” This saying rang in his 
mind like a bugle-call on a clear morning; it 
stood before his eyes in letters of fire. The 
generous blood leaped in his heart. His 
tight lips parted, and a smile came into his 
face. Unconsciously he lengthened his 
stride, the glorious hope and confidence of 
youth in him like a song. 

“ I shall save him! ” he repeatedly ex¬ 
claimed to himself; and pictured a score of 
scenes where he was laying down his life for 
the king in rocky passes, within castle walls, 
or in the open field of battle. He thrilled in 
all his being. 

When at length he reached the end of the 
forest, somewhat sober after his exaltation, 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


255 


and struck the open road falling away to the 
city on a long, gradual slope, the valley lay 
in the soft lights and shadows of evening. 

Occasionally now the young crusader 
passed men or clumsy, laden women in the 
road; and before long the city rose before 
him, its radiance from numberless lights ris¬ 
ing skyward and vying with the misty gleam 
of the coming moon. A hundred church- 
steeples and castle-towers and battlements 
were silhouetted against the sky. 

Richard was mightily surprised to come 
upon a city so large, a city which seemed to 
him far more magnificent than London. 

Hunger began to press him, and when he 
entered the narrow, crooked streets of tHe 
town he began to look about at once for 
an eating-place, although the quarter in 
which he found himself looked far from in¬ 
viting. 

He entered the first tavern he saw, how¬ 
ever, striding in without hesitation. The 
room was long and narrow and low-raftered, 
set with clean tables at regular intervals; and 


256 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


it was comparatively deserted at the time, 
although at the far end sat a stout, red-faced, 
gray-haired soldier, his soft, broad-brimmed 
hat before him on the table. In his hand 
was a great earthenware tankard, on which 
were raised representations of clusters of 
grapes and vines, truthfully colored, from 
which he now and then took a sip, at the same 
time looking keenly at the newcomer. 

Richard went halfway down the room, 
thankful to find so clean a spot in so un¬ 
promising a part of the city, and took a seat 
at one of the tables, facing the other oc¬ 
cupant of the place. After he had rapped 
sharply several times a fat man, bald on the 
head, but favored with long red whiskers, 
made his appearance from a side door and 
attended him, wiping the already clean table 
with commendable zeal. 

The young minstrel gave his order in the 
best French he could muster. The servant 
looked at him blankly, then spoke in some 
tongue unknown to him, yet sounding fa¬ 
miliar. It seemed unwise to try English, so 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


257 


Richard motioned to the stout, jolly-looking 
man at the end of the room. 

The waiter called out respectfully to the 
soldier, who, after a last pull at his huge, 
curious drinking vessel, arose, took up his 
hat, and came down the room, his sword 
jingling on the stone flooring. 

“ Can you speak French, sir? ” asked 
Richard, looking up at the fellow and meet¬ 
ing his shrewd eyes. 

“ Yes,” answered the stout man-at-arms, 
in French. “ Can I serve you? I take it 
you are newly arrived in Vienna? ” 

“ I have been here but a short time. You 
can indeed serve me by repeating my order 
for supper to this man. Will you honor me 
by drinking again?” Richard nodded to¬ 
ward the table from which the other had 
arisen. He repeated his order for supper. 

The soldier sat easily down and gave 
Richard’s order, not forgetting to add 
thereto the wine he was invited to drink. 
V^en the waiter had gone, he turned upon 
Richard and carelessly asked him many ques- 


258 


THE YOUNG CRUSADEE 


tions. He was a good-looking man, and his 
eye was twinkling and full of humor, yet 
very keen. He studied the handsome young 
Englishman covertly with interest. 

“ Maybe you have been to the crusade, 
friend? ” he said, as the waiter left the second 
time, after serving a great measure of wine 
in a beautiful vessel similar to the one the 
soldier had left on the other table. 

“ Yes,” returned Richard, who was con¬ 
scious of the other’s scrutiny. 

“ French? ” 

“ English,” said Richard, promptly. 

The soldier nodded, showing his surprise 
at the response. He had expected some¬ 
thing different; he believed Richard was 
English, but believed he would lie. A 
puzzled look crept into his laughing eyes, 
and he half obscured his red face in the 
flagon. 

“ I would own it seldom, sir,” he advised, 
as he set the vessel on the table. 

Richard grew red, and unconsciously 
stiffened, fire in his eye. 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


259 


“ A courteous suggestion for this good 
wine, young friend,” put in the soldier,* 
quickly. 

The waiter at this juncture returned to 
the room, heavily laden with dishes, and set 
the supper out, the two men sitting without 
speech. When he had gone with his due, 
Richard, with an excuse to the man drinking 
his wine, attacked the meal with a keen 
appetite. 

“ Take no offense at what I said, young 
sir,” said the stout man, “ but the rumor is 
abroad to-night that your great King Rich¬ 
ard was found in the hills to-day and yielded 
up his sword to the duke.” 

“ The duke of Austria? ” Richard flashed 
a look at the other, who was observing him 
closely. 

“ Yes.” 

Richard could not wholly conceal his ex¬ 
citement. 

It cannot be, sir.” 

“ So the word is.” 

“ And he is here in—Vienna? ” 


260 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


The soldier shut one eye, and, cocking his 
head to one side, stared at him shrewdly with 
the other. “ It does not follow, sir. No 
man can tell.” Suddenly he leaned across 
the table, with both eyes open, very serious. 
“ I too have been in Acre. If I mistake not, 
you were close friend to the English king. 
I remember you.” 

“ What then? ” demanded Richard, 
tensely, pushing back from the table and 
quietly kicking Goodwill into position. In 
his flash of anger he spoke in English. 

Speak French, young sir,” advised the 
soldier at length, meeting his eye for a 
moment. “ I have no quarrel with you. I 
wish you well. I will make a suggestion, if 
you will pardon one below your rank. Do 
you travel for England—wherever it may be 
—and seek nothing but the shortest road.” 

With a little laugh Richard moved up to 
his supper. “ I thank you, sir,” he said. 
He saw that this fellow had no enmity 
against him, and he was joyful that he had 
news of the king, who surely was safe even 



THE YOUNG CEUSADER 261 


if a prisoner. He finished his supper quietly, 
and, after a long talk with the good-natured 
soldier about the war, declared that he must 
make arrangements for his lodging. 

“ I doubt not that they will entertain you 
here, young sir,” said the swordsman, “if it 
please you.” 

“ It would be well enough,” observed 
Richard, who was very tired and did not in¬ 
cline to a long walk. The tavern was 
humble, and apparently—to judge from tKe 
street sounds—in a rough quarter; but it 
was clean and neat, and the meal had been 
really excellent. 

“ They entertain few with beds,” said 
Gregory, the gray-haired soldier, “ but me 
they know well.” He rapped sharply on 
the table, and when the waiter came flying 
in he spoke to him in a peremptory way. 
The waiter sped off with his message, what¬ 
ever it was, and in a few minutes a thin, dark 
man entered the room and approached the 
table. Gregory spoke to him a few mo¬ 
ments in their own tongue, and then in 


262 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


French requested lodging for his young 
French friend who was homeward bound 
from the crusade. 

The landlord grumbled a bit, but in the 
end signified his willingness to accommodate. 
As the young stranger arose, the thin man 
lifted his eyebrows to Gregory, who re¬ 
sponded with a quick wink. 

Parting from Gregory, who was at his 
third fiagon of wine, Richard followed the 
dark landlord up-stairs to a neat little 
chamber under the eaves, overlooking the 
street. 

When the landlord had departed, the 
young man looked out the' window, which 
was breast high, and for a few moments 
watched the shadowy forms of swaggering 
men, in the narrow street below, going to 
and fro or entering or leaving the drinking- 
room in which he had supped. 

He was jubilant and hopeful. If the king 
had fallen into the duke’s hands, he was safe 
at least, for the duke would not dare to harm 
his person, although he might hold him 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


263 


prisoner and claim a ransom. The boy was 
dead tired, both physically and mentally, so 
presently he blew out his taper and, tum¬ 
bling into bed, with Goodwill snug under his 
arm, lay staring at the sloping roof a few 
inches over him, until suddenly he fell fast 
asleep. 

He awoke in the morning with a start. 
The sun was streaming cheerfully into the 
little chamber, but there was no sound. For 
a time he lay motionless in surprise at his 
position. For many a week he had been 
sleeping under the trees or the stars, and it 
seemed strange and a little bewildering to 
look up and discern a roof over him near 
enough to touch with his hand. But very 
soon he recalled where he was and the ter¬ 
rible thing that had occurred. He jumped 
out of bed, drawing his splendid blade with 
him, and devoutly said his morning prayers, 
again swearing to devote himself to search¬ 
ing out his captured king. 

He found a basin of water on a stand in 
the corner, which was a rare convenience in 


264 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


a public place, and, after bathing his face, 
made ready to descend. He had not entirely 
disrobed in the night, so his dressing took 
but a short time. 

When he drew his jacket from under his 
pillow, where he had placed it for safe keep¬ 
ing, a chill of apprehension went through 
him. He stood transfixed, staring at the 
garment in his hand. How light it felt! 
He turned it inside out. The pockets where 
he had kept his gold were ripped away and 
were quite empty. He had been robbed! 
Not a single piece was left him. The blood 
of anger encrimsoned his face. His eye 
flashed. What a fool he had been! Now, 
when it was too late, he recalled that on the 
preceding night below he had given too mueh 
evidence that he was well supplied with 
money; and he recalled, too, the covetous 
gleam in Gregory’s eyes when he had paid 
in gold, and that the stout, jolly rascal had 
stuck to him like a fly. Richard was not 
wholly a fool. He saw now that Gregory 
and the landlord — whose exchange of 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


2G5 


glances at this moment he understood—had 
leagued to rob him. 

He sprang across the room and looked at 
Goodwill, which he had laid on the bed upon 
arising. His rage subsided in his satisfac¬ 
tion at finding that the sword still bore its 
jewel. He had lain on his weapon, and 
probably the thief or thieves had found it 
impossible to get at it, or perhaps had not 
noted its gold rings and the splendid dia¬ 
mond in the hilt. 

“ Tm undone!” he cried to himself, bit¬ 
terly, as he realized his predicament—penni¬ 
less in a strange land. And yet, as is some¬ 
times the case, what seemed to be a great 
misfortune was the most fortunate thing that 
could occur. With plenty of money his 
course might have been different, but he was 
to be forced to a way of life of which he had 
never dreamed. Richard did not then think 
in this way; he was too angry and too wor¬ 
ried. As he thought of Gregory, the man 
who had served him so ill, his face hardened; 
and, buckling on Goodwill, he strode from 


266 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


the room and down-stairs to the apartment 
where he had supped. 

The drinking-place was empty save for 
two or three peaceful-appearing men and the 
same red-whiskered waiter who had served 
him in the evening. He beckoned to the 
servant, who came promptly forward. He 
tried to make the fellow understand that he 
wanted to see either Gregory or the landlord, 
but could not. The waiter apparently made 
nothing of his words or signs. Despairing 
of making him understand, the young cru¬ 
sader rapped soundly on the table, but the 
only effect was to make those in the room 
stare at him in mingled displeasure and fear. 

“ Can anybody here speak French or 
English? ” he demanded, sternly, speaking 
first in one language and then in the other. 
The occupants of the place merely stared 
harder, and no one made response. He 
turned fiercely upon the waiter and made 
signs of eating. At this the red-whiskered 
fellow broadly grinned and nodded emphat¬ 
ically, scurrying away at once. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 267 

Richard seated himself at a table near the 
main door, and in a few minutes the fellow 
served him a plentiful breakfast. 

“ They don’t intend I shall be turned away 
without a meal, anyway,” he muttered, 
grimly, as he began to eat, all the time keep¬ 
ing his eye sharp for a glimpse of the land¬ 
lord or the gray-haired, stocky soldier. He 
ate slowly, his anger cooling, but not leaving 
him altogether. His fingers itched for one 
or the other of the two rascals. He knew 
well that it would be extremely perilous for 
him, an Englishman, to turn the place up¬ 
side down, even if he were in the right; so 
when he had sat around an hour or more 
after finishing his breakfast he decided to 
swallow his misfortune and go his way, mak¬ 
ing the best of it. He therefore arose, and, 
unchallenged by the waiter, who was watch¬ 
ing him with a sly grin, swung out of the un¬ 
lucky place into the narrow, sunny street, 
setting off on the quest to whicK He was 
sworn. 

He pushed on through mean and narrow 


2G8 THE YOUNG CEUSADER 

streets without adventure until he came to 
broad, clean avenues and buildings and shops 
as fine as any he had ever seen. The streets 
here were thronged with soldiers, afoot and 
on horseback, in brilliant colors and plumes 
and glittering steel. Splendid carriages, 
drawn by superb horses, dashed by, bearing 
ladies in their gorgeous silks and gleaming 
jewels. Although travel-stained, Richard 
was still sufficiently well clad to move among 
the gay, proud throngs without being oddly 
conspicuous, although he was so straight and 
handsome that many a person looked at him 
more than once. 

He realized, of course, that without gold 
he would soon find himself unable to mingle 
so little noted among proud people, and he 
was sorely puzzled as to what he could do, 
although not alarmed. He assuredly would 
not starve; for no man need starve in these 
days when he had a good sword-arm to hire 
to a leader. But it was one thing to keep 
himself in food and clothes, and quite 
another to make it possible to live in this land 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


269 


of strangers and enemies and prosecute a 
quest both difficult and perilous. He knit 
his brows in thought, and swung aimlessly 
along, unmindful of the glances of admira¬ 
tion or curiosity he received. 

At noontime, after his long wandering, he 
began to be faint with hunger, and with a 
grim smile he tightened his belt and still 
swung on. After another hour of walking 
he sat on a bench in a park before a massive 
old church and rested his weary legs, 
although he could not ease his mind, which 
was still puzzling hard over the serious 
problem of living without delivering his 
person to any man. 

He became so uneasy that he could remain 
on the bench no longer; therefore, arising, he 
resumed his aimless strolling. On and on 
and on he went, now and then finding himself 
in places where he had been before. It was 
immaterial to him where he went, however; 
and even when the twilight shadows length¬ 
ened in the streets he still doggedly walked 
as before, and kept thinking, thinking, all 


270 THE YOUNG CKUSADER 

the time. What should he do? What 
could he do? How was he to live to search 
for his king? The problem seemed too dif¬ 
ficult for solving. He could, of course,— 
and truthfully,—^go through the country 
and, representing himself as a lost pilgrim 
from the Holy Land,—thousands of whom 
were likewise lost then throughout Europe, 
—ask aid like a beggar; but this his proud 
heart would not let him do—hardly think of. 

Suddenly he recalled the diamond in his 
sword hilt. 

“No!’’ he cried to himself, rebelliously. 
“ I will not part with it! ” He stood stock¬ 
still, and the street was now too deserted and 
dusky for his peculiar behavior to excite 
notice. “Yes, yes, I will!” he decided at 
length, his eyes shining. “ I will! It’s for 
the king! ” 

Having made this decision, he looked to 
see where he was, and after a while set off 
toward a row of shops he had noted, now re¬ 
signed to pawn his diamond for gold to aid 
him. 





THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


271 


He readily found a place where he could 
pledge the jewel in Goodwill, and in the shop 
took the diamond from the hilt himself, for 
he would not allow the money-lender to place 
a finger upon the sword. Too proud to 
haggle, he exchanged the gem for gold and 
was soon in the street again, knowing he had 
been cheated by the shifty-eyed, cringing 
broker, but, fortunately for his peace of 
mind, not knowing how much. 

Richard was young and hot-blooded, and 
a fighter every inch, although a generous foe. 
In this day men deemed it honor to give a 
blow for everv one received, and it was 
natural that he should think of the theft of 
which he had been victim and strongly desire 
to deal punishment. When he thought of 
Gregory his pulse quickened, and he made 
an effort to find the quarter of the city where 
he had spent the night. It was now late, 
however; the way was long; the city was as a 
maze to him; and, as he could speak only 
French and his native tongue, he found it 
difficult to get directions. He was, of 


1 


272 THE YOUNG CEUSADEE 

course, chary about speaking to people in the 
street then, for men eyed him suspiciously, 
and he knew it would be easy for him to get 
in a brawl that might cost him life or liberty 
—and give no advantage in any event. 

After he had vainly sought his way for a 
time, it came to his mind like a flash of light 
that he had no right to think of his own de¬ 
sires, and then, with a little laugh, he gave 
Gregory up. He was not mean-spirited or 
revengeful, but he did hope that chance 
would put the treacherous, jolly dog in his 
way. 

He had now no difficulty in finding a lodg¬ 
ing-place, a much better place than the neat 
but low tavern where he had stayed on the 
preceding night. 

“ I must seek less dear quarters,” He said 
to himself after a hearty supper, for the 
prices he was forced to pay amazed him and 
made alarming inroads upon the price of his 
diamond. 

But before the evening was over he felt 
well repaid for what he deemed extrava- 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


273 


gance. The landlord, a stout, handsome 
man, with fine brown eyes and a full, silky, 
white beard, was taken with the English 
boy’s appearance and entered into conversa¬ 
tion with him. The fellow could speak 
French fluently, far better than Richard 
could, and he asked many questions and told 
him much about the city, of which he was ex¬ 
tremely proud. 

“ Did you serve under the great English 
king, sir? ” asked the affable landlord, when 
Richard had frankly told his race and 
stated that he was returning from the cru¬ 
sade. 

“ Under his banner,—^yes.” 

The handsome landlord swept a glance 
about the bright supper-room, where many 
gorgeously clad gentlemen sat at their wine, 
some gayly chatting and laughing, others 
conversing with heads together. 

‘‘ You know, young sir, I suppose,” he 
said, in a low tone, “ that he was captured 
in the hills with one follower.” 

“ I have heard such a story during the 


274 


THE YOU:N'a CEUSADEK 


day,” returned Richard, coolly, while his 
heart jumped. 

“ It is the truth, sir,” asserted the man, 
proudly, although rather sorry to hurt the 
other’s feelings. He hated the name of 
England, but liked this young man who had 
fought under Richard of the Lion Heart. 

Richard smiled, wisely believing he should 
gain more information by apparent disbelief 
and indifference than by asking questions. 

“ It is the truth, sir,” repeated the land¬ 
lord. “ With my own eyes I saw him pass 
this door yesterday with the duke’s soldiers— 
a giant of a man, with reddish hair, and— 
ah, like one who feared not the devil him¬ 
self!” 

“ Yes! ” put in Richard, straightening, his 
eyes flashing proudly. “ But,” he said, 
shrewdly, ‘‘ that might not be Richard of 
England, for I heard he left Palestine and 
sailed direct for England.” 

“ With my own eyeSy sir,” exclaimed the 
landlord, with a shake of the head. “ Men 
told me it was Richard of England. He 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


275 


was wrecked and sought to gain England 
afoot. Even now I have here one who was 
with the duke when your lord was taken.” 

“ Which man? ” Involuntarily Richard’s 
hand leaped to his sword, but he tried to con¬ 
ceal that act by letting his hand remain where 
it had flown to fumble with his belt. 

The landlord noted the flying hand and 
the young crusader’s flashing eye, but said 
nothing. He indicated a dark, tall man in 
a splendid suit of ruby velvet and lace, sit¬ 
ting far down the room near a window. 

“ That, sir, is Captain Joseph, and he was 
with the duke. I have the story from his 
own lips.” 

“ I would have word with him,” said 
Richard, pushing from the table. 

‘‘ No! ” expostulated the landlord. ‘‘ He 
is in ill temper, young sir.” 

“Ill temper!” exclaimed Richard, con¬ 
temptuously. 

At this moment, however, the soldier 
arose, and, without speaking to any one, left 
the room. As he disappeared, Richard, 


276 


THE YOUNG CEUSAHER 


ignoring the landlord’s friendly warning, 
leaped to his feet and followed into the night, 
intent upon speech with the duke’s captain. 

Before him was a narrow way, where the 
upper stories of the houses almost met and 
shut out all light save a ribhon of star- 
gemmed sky. Down this street he could dis¬ 
cern a group of men, preceded by two boys 
carrying links; and among them he could 
make out the superbly clad figure of the 
duke’s tall captain, the dim light flashing on 
his steel corselet and rapier. 

He went after this group at a half run and 
finally overtook them—the captain himself 
and six or eight men-at-arms in steel caps 
and breastplates. Crying out in French, he 
pushed forward, trying to elbow in upon 
Joseph for speech. 

His impetuosity and foolishness cost him 
dear. The captain thought he was attacked 
by robbers or a band of personal enemies. 
With a cry to his men, he leaped about, whip¬ 
ping his rapier from its scabbard. With a 
chorus of shouts, his men-at-arms half en- 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 277 

circled the minstrel and with a clash of steel 
unsheathed their blades. 

Unable to make himself heard or his 
pacific intention understood in the exciting 
moment, Richard drew Goodwill to hold off 
the semicircle of glittering swords that now 
menaced him and flashed toward him like 
vivid gleams of fire. He met the press with 
his usual spirit, unafraid, but with surging 
blood. Even as steel clashed against steel, 
he shouted out for peace, but he was sorely 
outnumbered, and before any one could 
understand a word he was beaten down by 
many blades. 

In two minutes all was over, and the cap¬ 
tain and his men went on with the links, leav¬ 
ing the minstrel prone and silent in a grow¬ 
ing red pool in the dark and deserted street. 


CHAPTER XIV 


R ichard came slowly to conscious¬ 
ness, dazed and exceedingly weak, 
and stared up at the black, over¬ 
hanging houses and at the strip of sky. He 
recalled what had occurred—saw again the 
press of fierce, half-seen faces and the flash¬ 
ing of swords—and marveled to find himself 
alive. 

Struggling to his elbow, he stared down 

the narrow thoroughfare and saw the lights 

of the tavern he had left. As the rooms 

were still ablaze, he realized .that he could not 

Rave been senseless very long. 

He managed to gain his feet at length, 

although he stood very uncertainly, and 

knew that by some great good fortune he had 

escaped mortal or serious w^ound. The 

truth was, luckily for him, that the captain 

was in haste, and the men-at-arms after 

striking him down had merely robbed him 

and then gone their way, indifferent as to 

278 


THE YOUNH CRUSADEK 279 

his condition. Richard learned at once that 
his money was gone, feeling for it as soon as 
he stood, but he was too sick then to care 
much. He wobbled along unsteadily, help¬ 
ing himself by placing his hand against the 
buildings, and went straight to the tavern 
doorway he had left so precipitately. 

The kindly landlord saw him, and, crying 
to his servants to aid, ran forward, compas¬ 
sionate. He was one of the rare men of 
earth, and he had the young minstrel carried 
to one of his rooms and put between sheets 
and attended immediately by a surgeon who 
lived near by. 

Richard, having no armor, had been 
slashed in several places, but his skill had 
saved him from a great wound. He had un¬ 
doubtedly fainted from loss of blood as he 
fought, and no one of his opponents had 
taken the trouble to pass a blade through him 
as he lay recumbent. 

His recovery was very rapid, and he was 
soon himself again, very grateful to the land¬ 
lord who had proved so good a friend. 


280 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


“ I will send you recompense from Eng¬ 
land one day,” he said when he was ready to 
go. 

“ I will receive it gladly, sir, in memory 
of you,” returned the landlord. He had 
kept Richard and treated him like a loved 
son even when he knew the boy to be with¬ 
out a single gold piece, and he had, in fact, 
pressed a little money upon him at the time 
of parting. He never expected to receive a 
gift from England, but he was too honest to 
say it would be unwelcome. 

With merely the landlord’s modest gift, 
Richard left the inn and his good friend, who 
parted with him almost tearfully, and again 
threaded the streets of Vienna. He re¬ 
proached himself for getting wounded and 
thus losing time, but he was wiser now. 
And, more than all, his lack of money, which 
he had never felt before in his life, had given 
him a new idea. While mending in the inn, 
the thought had come to him—^he would sing 
as a public minstrel to pay his travel and 
keep. It hurt his pride like a blow; it was 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


281 


terrible to him. He, an English noble who 
had sat in the presence of kings, to sing in 
tavern and castle-yard and hall! It was 
almost unthinkable, and his face crimsoned 
every time he thought of it. And yet his 
resolution was made. It was service for the 
king. He did not know it then,—and, per¬ 
haps, never did, and would certainly have 
disbelieved if any had made the statement,— 
but he would serve the king better as a sing¬ 
ing stroller than as a knight with purse 
crammed with gold. 

Everybody now knew that Richard, the 
fierce and arrogant lord of England, was in 
the toils in Austria. The young minstrel, 
fast learning the language, heard this upon 
all sides, but he knew not where to turn, for 
no whisper came of where his lord might be. 

Richard sang first as a public minstrel in 
a tavern in Vienna. Hunger drove him to 
it. 

Among the diners in this place one night 
he rapped for attention and stood upright. 
Fear clutched at his throat even as when in 



282 


THE YOUNG CRUSAHEK 


Dartmouth his king had asked him to sing; 
but hunger’s urge was fierce, and determi¬ 
nation to earn his bread and seek in a capac¬ 
ity that would give him a freedom for spying 
urged still harder. His face was hot, and 
his heart was cold. Men laughed at his 
hesitation, and their voices were like blows. 
Steadying himself, he lifted his voice in the 
bold sword-song of Devon, his voice quaver¬ 
ing at first, then steadying and becoming 
mellow and even and full and passionate. A 
storm of applause and considerable money 
rewarded this first effort, and his heart was 
full of joy, because this success assured him 
that he would be welcome in any castle in 
Europe. 

He sang again when he had collected his 
money, as he knew was the custom of 
minstrels. To try his powers still more— 
for he had become quite cool and self-pos¬ 
sessed—he gathered a circle about him, call¬ 
ing those who could understand French, and 
told a tale he had heard in a bazaar in Acre. 
After the manner of the Oriental story- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


283 


teller, he halted his tale at the exciting point 
and demanded his reward, and, when money 
was given, he concluded. 

The landlord of this tavern, with tears, 
begged him to remain with him, offering him 
a stated sum of money, a fine room, and his 
living. 

Richard, however, had no intention of re¬ 
maining in one place. Every day counted 
in his search. He sang in many taverns in 
the city, several times in that of Franz, the 
innkeeper who had been so kind to him, and 
everywhere he tried to learn about the 
king. His searching and cautious queries 
brought him no knowledge. Richard of 
England was gone—it was as if he had 
evaporated. No one knew where he was 
detained. 

Richard of Devon became so well known 
throughout Vienna for his songs and stories, 
and was in such demand, that he determined 
to leave. He had sung in every castle in the 
city and in every tavern of decent repute, 
and always his first and his last song was the 



284 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


love ballad he had composed with his king 
before the walls of Acre. 

He deemed it not unlikely that in some 
way he might be held while he was popular, 
even made a prisoner somewhere, as the lords 
were not patient with singers and cared 
nothing for their whims or desires. There¬ 
fore he left the city under cover of night and 
struck westward through the country along 
the Danube. 

For weeks he kept on, but stopped at 
every castle on the way, sometimes remain¬ 
ing a day or two, always singing the ballad 
of Acre under the windows of the towers and 
keeps. 

Still no sign or clue rewarded his search 
and loyalty, and his heart sickened with the 
suspense. He was sure the king would be 
held for ransom, for the duke, or even the 
emperor himself, would not dare put him to 
death; but it made his blood boil to think of 
him in prison or in durance. He felt sure 
that by this time news of his capture must 
have reached England, and that Queen 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


285 


Eleanor would do all in her power to help 
her son, and would invoke the aid of the 
pope in behalf of one who had served the 
church so well. But neither the queen- 
mother nor the pope could do much while 
Richard’s whereabouts remained unknown. 

The minstrel pressed on, however, and, as 
before, stopped at every castle along the 
noble Danube, and, as before, unavailingly 
sung the song he wished to hear from other 
English lips in answer. 

Night began to come upon him one day 
on a road winding high above the river 
through the forest, but he cared nothing for 
that, as he was quite willing to wrap his 
mantle about him and lay down to sleep 
among the trees. In his easy, swinging 
stride, he overtook an old peasant walking 
beside a rude, rattling two-wheeled cart 
drawn by an ox. As he came abreast, the 
old man turned up a face as brown and 
wrinkled as an English walnut and looked 
at him with a bright eye. 

“ Good evening, sir,” he said, in a shrill, 


286 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


uneven tone, noting Goodwill and also the 
lute the handsome stroller carried. 

“ Good evening,” returned Richard, slow¬ 
ing down to the old man’s gait. “ Is there 
a castle near by? ” 

“ Aye, sir,—Durrenstein,” answered the 
peasant, proudly, cocking his shaggy gray 
head and curiously regarding the stranger. 

“ How far?” 

“ A turn of the glass, sir.” 

“ By the ox? ” queried Richard, smilingly, 
thinking the old man meant an hour accord¬ 
ing to the slow pace of his ambling ox, and 
therefore fifteen minutes for an able man. 

“ Aye, sir.” 

As they were speaking, they came to a 
branch in the road, the river road straight 
ahead, the other turning to the left and swal¬ 
lowing itself in its own leafy gloom. 
Directly before them, through the trees, 
Richard could see the river winding among 
the hills, shimmering like an expanse of 
silver, until it was lost to sight to the left. 

“ Where does this road lead, good man? ” 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


287 


he asked, pointing to the branching road. 
He had no mind to walk farther than neces¬ 
sary, and he had saved his heels many a mile 
by taking roads that seemed to lead from the 
river, but which merely saved uselessly fol¬ 
lowing a long curve. 

“To Wachua, sir,” answered the old man, 
bringing his cart to a stop. 

“ Is there a castle in Wachua? ” 

“ Aye, sir. A fine one, but not like Dur- 
renstein.” The old man pointed to the 
road straight ahead, his eyes glowing. 
“ You will make merry there, sir,” he said, 
with a comical air of proprietorship, wishing 
the stroller to know that his liege lord—who 
knew not of his existence, probably—^was 
merry and great and hospitable, more than 
any other; “ and they will fill you well with 
wine and meat.” 

“ And Wachua?” 

The carter shrugged his bowed, work- 
weary shoulders, but he liked the kindly- 
spoken minstrel and told the truth. 
Wachua was a fair place, he said, and was 


288 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


indeed on the river. There would be a sav¬ 
ing of six miles by taking the branching 
road. 

“ ITl go to Wachua,” declared Richard, 
promptly. He was weary of body, but faint 
at heart more than all. He had never gone 
knowingly by a single castle before, but now 
he determined to pass Durrenstein, which he 
guessed, judging from the old man, might 
after all be a miserable pile of stone peopled 
by poverty-stricken lords, half-soldier and 
half-robber. 

The wrinkled old man eyed Richard’s lute 
wistfully, timidly, and glanced up and down 
the stalwart minstrel. 

“ I heard one of those things once,” he 
stated in his crackling voice. “ Would you 
play it and sing—for an old man—an old, 
old man? ” He shrank back a little as if he 
expected a blow in response to his daring re¬ 
quest. 

Richard nodded, smiling. He had more 
than once, during the last few days, refused 
to sing for man in silk and velvet and jewels. 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


289 


not seldom shunning danger he would have 
been glad to meet if it had not been for his 
mission. To sing for any man in Austria 
or Germany was bitterness to him, but his 
kind heart was touched now by the bowed 
old peasant. 

The night shadows were lengthening and 
deepening down the road, but Richard seated 
himself on the tail of the cart and drew his 
lute from its covering of soft green leather. 
He deftly tuned the instrument, while the 
old man, careless of the hour, stood near by, 
his mouth agape, and watched him with 
wonder. 

The young minstrel lightly swept his 
fingers across the strings, and, master of the 
instmment, played a dashing song, making 
the old man’s eyes gleam with fire and his 
tongue cry out shrilly in delight. After a 
pause he played again, a soft prelude like 
the distant, half-heard cooing of birds in 
mating time; and then, striking into the full 
melody on the lute, lifted his mellow, manly 
voice in King Richard’s love ballad, the song 


290 


THE YOUNG CEUSADEE 


composed in the king’s tent before the be¬ 
leaguered citv of Acre. His fine voice, with 
the silvery lilting accompaniment of the 
lute, rang gloriously and richly through the 
dusky woods. Verse after verse he sang, 
pouring out his heart, thinking of the lord 
he loved, and quite oblivious of the old fellow 
whom, in his kindness, he had delayed to 
entertain like a king. 

When at length he was done, he slipped 
the lute in its case with a little laugh, for, 
kind as he was, he could not help feeling that 
he had been foolish to humor the clumsy, 
aged lout. 

The old man, after a tribute of long 
silence, cackled shrilly and excitedly in his 
overmastering delight, and waved with both 
hands down the straight road. Suddenly 
he calmed himself a little, although his eyes 
shone with excitement and he mumbled 
rapidly. 

“ I think you liked it,” said Richard, as he 
stood erect in the road, and, used as he was 
to plaudits, he knew that never before had he 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


291 


sung to one Avho had more appreciation for 
his efforts. In the old man’s delight he felt 
repaid for his unbending. 

“ Aye! ” screeched the old fellow, shaking 
his head very vigorously. He tried to ex¬ 
press his pleasure, but he talked so rapidly 
and excitedly that Richard could not under¬ 
stand his words. “ I have heard that song 
from the castle yon ”—he pointed down the 
road—“ many nights, sir, but never like thee 
sings it. Yet it was the same, for I remem¬ 
ber tunes.” 

Richard stiffened and stared at the excited 
old man in the vague light, his heart leaping 
with hope. Could it be that this old man 
had heard the song? Could it be? If true, 
it meant that Richard of England was in 
Durrenstein! But as hope came like a bil¬ 
low into his breast there came also the 
thought that some one who had heard him in 
Vienna or along the way might have remem¬ 
bered the song and carried it as far as Dur¬ 
renstein. And yet who could sing it in 
English? 


292 


THE YOUISra CEUSADER 


“ Old man/’ said he, quietly, now deter¬ 
mined to leave no place unvisited, ‘‘ I will 
go on with you to see the castle of Durren- 
stein—for I am tired and hungry/’ 

“ They Will give you a plenty, sir,” de¬ 
clared the old man. He turned his attention 
to the ox, and at length succeeded in making 
the clumsy beast move on with the rattling 
cart. 

Richard walked along with renewed 
hope singing in his heart, ignoring the old 
man’s incessant chattering, his eyes search¬ 
ing ahead through the woods and hills for 
the twinkling lights of Durrenstein castle. 




“I HAVK HEARD THAT SONG FROM THE CASTLE, YON.”— Page 291 






s 







i 




»■ k 











I .» 




CHAPTER XV 


B efore long, after a turn in the 
road, a great stone building, with 
battlements and huge towers, ap¬ 
peared to view, perched high above the 
mighty river on the rocks, grim, colossal, and 
clear-cut against the evening sky. Yellow 
lights gleamed here and there in many places 
in the castle, like stars against black velvet; 
and directly below them twinkled the lights 
of humble cottages on the hillside and in 
small fields. 

“ That’s the castle, sir,” squeaked the old 
man, pointing to the great light-spangled 
silhouette. 

Richard nodded. Hope was again in full 
sway within him, and he did not care to 
speak. 

They slowly descended the hill toward the 

village, presently losing sight of the castle 

because of the intervening forest and hills. 

293 


294 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


The old carter drove his ox into the yard 
of a neat white cottage on the outskirts of 
the village, and, as the wagon groaned and 
rattled on, half a dozen light-haired children 
came leaping from the little house and gave 
grandfather a clamorous welcome. Upon 
the heels of the children came a stout, red¬ 
cheeked woman, who also welcomed the old 
man heartily, although with a touch of im¬ 
patience. 

“ Mv son’s children,” exclaimed the old 
man to Richard, proudly. “ My son’s wife,” 
he said, when the mother of the children came 
from the lighted doorway. 

The mother and the children became very 
silent and reserved when they descried the 
tall stranger with the old man, and made no 
comment when the grandfather in high 
praise told of the minstrel’s amazing kind¬ 
ness and of his beautiful singing and play¬ 
ing. 

“You are welcome, sir, to such as we 
have,” said the woman, quietly, studying the 
wanderer with great doubt, and seeing he 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 295 

was no ordinary minstrel, “ but I fear it will 
not be greatly pleasing to you.” 

“ I thank you,” said Richard, politely, 
“ but I have come to go on to the castle to 
pleasure your lord there.” 

The woman nodded, relief in her comely 
face. 

“ As you will, sir.” 

“ Indeed you will be welcome here,” put 
in the old man, excitedly, in his squeaking 
tones. “ My son will gladly have you.” 

“ I go on to the castle,” returned Rich¬ 
ard, bluntly. He turned gravely to the 
mother, whose children were now clustered 
about her skirts like little chicks, very sober, 
staring at him. “ Give me the way.” 

The old man’s daughter-in-law gave him 
plain directions, and with a brief word to her 
and a cheery good-by to the old man, who 
had been the means of giving him his new 
hope, Richard turned from the cottage and 
strode out into the road making off in the 
direction indicated. 

A good broad avenue led presently to the 


296 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


right through rugged pines, and into this he 
turned and went on, leaving the village be¬ 
hind him. 

At one time two men on horseback came 
up the way, but, wishing to avoid question¬ 
ing and possible trouble, he drew into the 
darkness of the trees and let them pass un¬ 
spoken. When they were gone, he resumed 
his way. Occasionally he could glimpse the 
river, very far away and very far below; and 
at length, coming to the edge of the forest, 
he discerned an open space of field and 
garden, and beyond that the castle, dotted 
with cheery lights, backed against the sky. 

When he emerged from the woods into the 
open, he realized that he was on a plateau 
high among the hills. The castle of Dur- 
renstein itself, a massive structure of dark 
stone, with high battlements and a hexagonal 
tower at each southern corner, stood on a 
gigantic, mighty crag, its outermost wall 
built upon the brink of a precipice dropping 
sheer two hundred feet to the broad bosom of 
the Danube. Upon each side were small 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


297i 


fields of grain, although near the roadway, in 
the shade of a few sturdy trees, efforts had 
been made to keep small flower-gardens. 
In spite of the yellow radiance streaming 
from many windows, Durrenstein on its 
crag, like a brooding eagle, did not seem 
cheerful. The night was cold here among 
the hills, and the wind, coming across the 
valley, whistled dolorously in the battlements 
and among the towers. 

Directly before him was a drawbridge, 
raised high like a great stone, and as he ad¬ 
vanced he saw that the crag upon which the 
castle stood was guarded from the land side 
by a gorge that dropped away to darkness 
in the bowels of the mountain. His soldier’s 
eye and mind approved of this grim citadel; 
and, given food and a handful of brave, true 
men, he would have sworn to hold it against 
an army for years. He had seen no stronger 
position in all his wanderings, and it might 
well be the place to hold and guard a king 
for his ransom. What could one man do, 
however devoted, however brave? It was 


298 


THE YOUNG CKUSAHER 


impossible to achieve here—aye, impossible. 
But if war has any virtue, it shows the brave 
that nothing is really impossible. 

With hope in his heart still singing, in 
spite of his realization of difficulties even if 
the king were here, he passed along the road 
till he stood by the great fissure opposite the 
upswung bridge. He called out boldly for 
admittance, and three men in the yard before 
the castle-gate beyond the bridge came for¬ 
ward in response to his hail, their swords 
glinting and jingling, and asked roughly 
who he was and what he wanted. 

“ I want admittance,” returned Richard, 
curtly, angry at the tones of the soldiers. 
His long wandering as a minstrel, and not 
as a noble, however, had taught him patience, 
and he held himself well in hand. 

‘‘ Whistle for it,” jeered one of the men. 
The others laughed at the remark, and would 
probably have laughed more, if they had 
known the stranger for one who had come to 
sing. 

Richard made no response for a moment; 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 299 

he could not, for his lips trembled with his 
anger. 

“ I am the English singer of Vienna,” he 
declared, calmly, “ and claim the hospitality 
of Durrenstein.” He could see the men 
across the chasm gather in a knot and talk 
earnestly with one another when he had 
ceased speaking, and this hesitation in itself 
made his heart throb. Here was the first 
place where he had not received a free and 
hearty welcome, for his fame had gone 
abroad as on the wind. 

“ Stand out to the bridge! ” cried one of 
the trio, and Richard, obeying, strode a few 
paces nearer. 

He himself could now make out the rough 
men-at-arms clearly enough, although the 
shadow of the great castle and its wall fell 
out to the bridge, and he knew they could 
certainly distinguish him and see that he was 
alone, since there was no cover for an attack¬ 
ing party between the forest-edge and the 
gorge. 

One of the men turned the windlass, the 


300 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


chains of the draw clanking sharply, and as 
the bridge began to descend another cried 
out harshly and stayed his companion’s hand. 

“ Who is behind you, minstrel? ” he de¬ 
manded. 

Richard had heard the faint thud of hoofs 
behind, and at the sharp query he turned and 
descried two horsemen emerging from the 
woods and coming toward him. He sup¬ 
posed they were the riders who had passed 
him in the road. 

“ It’s his lordship on the return,” said the 
soldier at the crank, relief in his voice, but 
he made no move to lower the bridge farther. 

The riders, on splendid bay chargers, 
came cantering forward in the starlight, their 
steel breastplates glistening, their long 
swords jingling, and they drew rein near 
Richard, who stepped aside calmly, but with 
a proper show of deference. One of the 
newcomers ^vas a tall man with massive 
shoulders; he sat his horse as if molded into 
the saddle, and yet was as straight as an 
arrow, and his heavily bearded face was 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


301 


fierce and stern. His companion was a stout 
man, too, although not so tall, and he like¬ 
wise had a savage countenance and a sweep¬ 
ing black beard. 

“ Down with the draw, rascal,” called the 
smaller man impatiently, in a harsh voice. 
“ Are you turned to stone? ” He looked at 
the great horseman beside him. “ They 
were most likely asleep. Sir Hugo.” 

The big man shrugged his shoulders 
slightly, but made no response, his keen eyes 
one moment upon the descending draw and 
the next upon the silent figure with the lute 
standing by the roadside. 

“ Who are you, fellow? ” he demanded, 
suddenly, as the bridge fell with a slight thud 
into position. He spoke calmly and evenly, 
but his tone was like the ring of good steel. 

Richard declared himself and asked 
admittance. 

Sir Hugo, the Baron of Durrenstein, eyed 
the stalwart stroller keenly. “ I have heard 
your fame,” he said, at length, decently 
enough, “ but I do not love the English. 


302 


THE YOUJ^G CRUSADER 


Still, I would hear you sing. Y^ou may fol¬ 
low in if you wish.” As he spoke, he 
touched his magnificent mount, which had 
strained for action all the time, and went 
with a ring of hoof across the planking to 
the mighty rock upon which the stronghold 
perched, followed by his companion. 

Richard passed quickly after the second 
horseman, and, ignoring the soldiers, who 
instantly s^vung up the draw, advanced to¬ 
ward the open gateway in the high stone 
wall several rods from the gorge. In the 
steward’s quarters he was well received, and 
with story and song made himself agreeable. 
It was only for a king that he would so have 
comported himself to men who served, but his 
experience had shown him that one must 
often rise to the lord on the shoulders of the 
servant. He had learned much as a min¬ 
strel. He had found it wise to scorn the 
service of no man, however lowly, and had 
also found that a wise man may get some¬ 
times further wisdom by listening to the talk 
of a fool. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


303 


The steward of Durrenstein was a ruddy¬ 
faced, pot-bellied, jolly man, very fond of 
warlike stories and songs, but with no liking 
at all for deeds of war for himself. He liked 
Richard at once, being fond of music, and 
almost reverenced him when he learned he 
had been to the crusade. This jolly little 
official, although j)i’oud and usually con¬ 
temptuous toward strollers, yielded Richard 
deference unconsciously, but the young min¬ 
strel dared not question him about prisoners 
who might be held in the two towers. 

At ten o’clock the steward, because of his 
liking for the new minstrel, went to the hall 
and reminded his stern lord that a trouba¬ 
dour with a wonderfully pleasing voice and 
songs and stories never before heard in Dur¬ 
renstein was in waiting, eager to serve those 
in the hall. 

The hall of Durrenstein was a long, high 
apartment, brilliantly alight with flambeaux 
in iron sconces and a roaring fire in an 
enormous fireplace at the farther end, 
and when Richard entered with his lute 


304 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


there were present fifteen or twenty men and 
several ladies. 

The baron was not far from the fire, his 
Herculean frame sprawling in a capacious, 
cushioned settle, while near him sat his lady 
and three daughters. Sir Hermon, his 
nephew, the man he had before seen, and 
several other fierce-looking fellows, even 
then armed, apparently the officers of the 
lord of Durrenstein. 

As was his wont, Richard advanced down 
the hall, his stalwart form erect, his head 
high, and approached the lord, courteously 
bowing to him, to his ladies, and then to the 
others assembled. 

“ I thank you, Sir Hugo,” he said, calmly, 
for this privilege. I shall be happy to do 
my utmost to entertain you pleasingly.” 

Sir Hugo straightened a little and stared 
at the self-possessed minstrel who met his 
eye openly and without a sign of embarrass¬ 
ment. He was not sure whether he liked 
this cool rascal, for most new minstrels 
paled before him in nervousness, and fawned 


THE YOUm CEUSADER 305 

and spoke for his favor before they sang or 
played. 

“ You ask not for favor,” he said, the 
words forced from him in surprise. He 
could not understand the stroller who did not 
bespeak indulgence. 

“ Not until I have served, my lord,” re¬ 
turned Richard with a slight smile, quite 
understanding Sir Hugo’s uncertainty. 
Within himself he felt a fierce joy that this 
lord should feel a nervousness for him, and 
fie would have given a year of life to meet 
him on the open field with Goodwill naked 
in his hand. 

“ Sing! ” commanded Sir Hugo, gruffly. 
“We shall see about favor then.” 

Richard swept his fingers across the 
strings of his lute, and, after his prelude, 
deftly played with fire, he lifted his mellow, 
ringing voice in the blood-tingling sword- 
song of Devon. He took Sir Hugo and 
the hall by storm, and they shouted wildly at 
the end till the great rafters rang and echoed 
as with thunder. 


306 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


Sir Hugo, on his feet, his fierce eyes shin¬ 
ing, stretched out his mighty arms and drew 
his bearded lips in a grim line. Then sud¬ 
denly, with a laugh almost sheepish, he sank 
down again, but without reclining. 

“ It was well done,” he said. “ I never 
heard the like before,” he added. He had 
not meant to praise so heartily, but he real¬ 
ized that his actions had shown his delight, 
and he was too fair to begrudge a spoken 
word, which he deemed would be to a wan¬ 
dering singer, no matter how famous, more 
welcome and pleasing than gold. 

Richard, cool and unmoved, smiled and 
bowed his thanks all around. It was always 
a pleasure to have his efforts appreciated, 
but here he desired to win favor more than 
ever, so the generous applause and words of 
praise gave him more satisfaction than he 
cared to show. 

He sang and played for an hour, but he 
had not worked as a minstrel so long without 
knowing it was best to end his entertainment 
before delight was dulled by surfeit; so at 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


307 


the end of that time he pleaded fatigue and 
made his excuses. 

“ You shall stay in Durrenstein as long as 
you please, singer,” said Sir Hugo, who ex¬ 
cused him reluctantly, “ English though you 
be.” 

“ I thank you. Sir Hugo,” returned Rich¬ 
ard, smiling into his face as he perceived the 
double meaning of the words ‘‘ as long as you 
please.” From the twinkle in the baron’s 
eyes, he knew that Sir Hugo had that double 
meaning in mind. As he turned to the 
ladies, bowing, he noted with a thrill of the 
heart a quick glance among the men at the 
baron’s last few words; but, making no sign, 
he bowed again and left the hall to join the 
steward, who knew of his success and was 
waiting for him. 

Life in the stronghold on the mountain 
crag was monotonous enough, but Richard 
remained day in and day out, singing and 
playing and telling his stories. He dared 
make no inquiries of any kind, and dared do 
little spying. He knew that the baron held 


308 


THE YOUNG CRUSAHEK 


prisoners in the towers, but who or what they 
were he had no way of finding out without 
too great a hazard. He was treated exceed¬ 
ingly well and was welcome; but, neverthe¬ 
less, he could see that all looked upon him 
with suspicion, and found, too, that he was 
never unwatched. This did not bother him, 
but, on the contrary, added to his hope and 
made him determined to remain in the castle 
till he found out whom the baron held. 

One afternoon well on toward dusk, as lie 
was crossing the courtyard to join the 
steward, a stout, red-faced, gray-haired 
soldier came swaggering from the guard- 
room near the gate and met him face to face. 

Richard stood for a moment like a figure 
of stone. It was as if a ghost had risen from 
the paving. He was utterly taken aback, 
but he recognized the soldier on the instant. 
It was Gregory, the jolly, accommodating 
rascal who had robbed him on his first night 
in Vienna. 

Gregory also stood motionless, transfixed, 
remembering the other at once. His jaw 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


309 


sagged, but, recovering himself quickly, he 
uttered an easy laugh, careless and contemp¬ 
tuous. 

“ I have been hoping to meet you, 
Gregory,” said Richard, coolly, while the 
blood of righteous wrath burned in him. 
“ If I had met you that morning or soon 
after, I would have killed you. But— 

now-” He swooped upon the thief like 

an eagle upon a jackdaw, tore his belt off, 
and punished him till he cried out for mercy. 
Richard threw him to the flags and dropped 
his belt, striding off without a backward 
glance. 

Gregory, the most surprised fellow on the 
face of earth, painfully arose and glared 
after the minstrel. It did not make him feel 
better to hear the laughter of a number of 
men who had seen the singer trounce him. 
Good nature was gone from his face; his 
eyes flashed balefully, and he sputtered im¬ 
precations incoherently. 

Richard told the jolly steward of the en¬ 
counter, and why he had belted the fellow, 



310 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


and they both enjoyed the matter 
thoroughly. Richard himself was pleased, 
although he truly felt that he had let him off 
too lightly. Forgetting himself somewhat, 
he did not dream that Gregory would vow 
vengeance and be so formidable as to make 
the throne of England tremble. He did not 
think that Gregory would try to take 
revenge against a mere minstrel, for he for¬ 
got that the soldier did not know he was a 
lord. In fact, after telling the steward of 
the theft in Vienna, and of the meeting in 
the castle-yard, he dropped Gregory alto¬ 
gether from his thought. 

So adventurous a spirit as Richard could 
not remain long without trying to do some¬ 
thing. Waiting might do good, but he 
knew well that time was important in the ex¬ 
treme and that he would be justified in tak¬ 
ing great chances. Richard of England 
must be found, and must be free, for while 
his whereabouts were unknown John, his 
brother, would be doing his utmost to secure 
the crown of England, in which efforts he 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


311 


would undoubtedly have the aid, open or 
covert, of Philip of France. 

He deemed it best to make some search in 
daylight. There were small gardens at the 
southern end of the castle between the towers 
and the wall built on the edge of the great 
chasm opening to the river, and there one 
morning he carelessly made his way alone, 
quite openly, his lute under his arm. 

He strolled about in the small space, now 
and then examining the towers which 
stretched skyward before him, with their 
narrow, barred windows. The towers, he 
noted, were constructed of rough stone, and 
he believed that a skillful, strong cliff- 
climber with intrepid spirit could scale them. 
To him who had dared death scores of times 
for fun in the Devon cliffs it did not seem 
too difficult. But who languished in those 
towers? He looked at the narrow windows 
from his pleasant position and yearned to 
know. He seated himself with his back to 
the wall, facing the castle and the two 
towers on the corners, and leisurely tuned 


312 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


his instrument. Then he sang, at first softly 
and then louder. He did not care who came 
or heard, for he would declare he was practic¬ 
ing. 

Louder and louder he lifted his beautiful, 
carrying voice, suddenly altering his ac¬ 
companiment and breaking into the love 
ballad composed in the tent of the king be¬ 
fore Acre. 

He had scarcely begun the second verse 
when, as from the sky, there came, to his in¬ 
expressible joy, a seeming echo to his tones, 
yet heavier and not so sweet. He broke off 
abruptly, his heart thundering and choking 
him, and then he knew that what he heard 
was not an echo—for the verse went on, and 
in a voice he knew! Joy thrilled him 
through all his being. He lifted his eyes, 
now misty with tears, and there far above 
him he saw in a narrow, barred window the 
face of England’s king—his own dear liege 
lord. Richard of the Lion Heart ceased 
singing and smiled down upon his loyal 
minstrel who had gone afoot searching for 




THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


313 


him in untold peril through an unknown 
land. When the song had risen to his lofty 
prison-chamber he knew that his Devon 
minstrel stood below. There was no doubt 
that he was as happy at the discovery as the 
boy in the little garden by the wall. 

Richard yearned to speak, to cry out, but 
knew he must not. The king waved his 
hand, as if to tell him to hasten away to tell 
the world where he was. Richard nodded to 
signify understanding, and then, lowering 
his straining eyes, thrummed on his lute and 
sang again, joy throbbing in his voice, and, 
without raising his glance, sang the ballad 
of Acre through to the last word. 

After a time, still restraining his desire to 
see the king, he arose and sauntered from 
the towers and from the garden. Out¬ 
wardly he was calm, but within he was rag¬ 
ing; his desire and love created a hundred 
schemes of escape, but not one could his 
mind approve. And yet, while he knew he 
should leave the castle at once and speed for 
England, he determined that on this very 


314 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


night he would speak to the king and once 
more kiss his hand. He knew the night 
would be dark, for there was no moon, and 
he doubted not that he could scale the rough 
tower to Richard’s window. And there ex¬ 
isted in his heart, of course, the wild hope 
that in some way he could compass the king’s 
release, and that they could flee for Eng¬ 
land together. 

Knowing that it would be difficult to con¬ 
ceal the excitement burning within and 
straining for expression, he avoided the 
steward and all others as much as possible, 
and waited patiently for the night. 

The sun went down in its crimson glory, 
and the stars came out. Then came the now 
unwelcome order to attend in the hall. He 
sang far into the evening, but when at last 
he was free he found the stars had paled in 
the half light of early morning. There w^re 
masses of heavy clouds overcasting the sky, 
however, and he decided to scale the tower, 
for he must go in the morning, and it would 
now be lighter all the time. 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 315 

He seemed to be alone in the dark court¬ 
yard, and, leaving his lute behind, he crept 
out to the end of the grim castle into the 
little garden and beneath the great black 
towers. 

In the shadow of the tower in which the 
king was confined, which was on the outer 
wall, he unbuckled Goodwill and set it 
against the stones. The night wind, cold 
and raw, was whistling over the wall, and 
the garden was desolate and deserted. 
With a last look about, he braced himself 
to the perilous task before him. If he 
slipped once, he died; if he were seen, death 
was just as sure. Grasping the projections 
of the rough stones, he pulled himself from 
the ground, and with almost incredible skill 
climbed slowly upward, grasping the pro¬ 
tuberances with his sine^vy, steel-like fingers 
and aiding himself by his feet clad in soft 
doeskin shoes. He flattened himself against 
the wall, digging his toes into crevices and 
depressions and clinging with his hands, and 
by prodigious effort went still up and up, 


316 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


inch by inch. The wind gripped at him 
and howled in his ears like an aroused demon, 
and to his right the precipice dropped sheer 
away two hundred feet to the river —a mere 
dark thread. The vast valley of the Danube 
stretched away for miles and miles, mist¬ 
ily gleaming, like the world seen from a 
star. 

But still up and up and up he went, un¬ 
afraid and determined, till at length, hot 
with exertion and breathing hard, he put his 
triumphant hand on an iron bar of the 
window in which he had seen the king, and 
for a moment or two rested, being in a com¬ 
paratively easy position, his hand upon the 
welcome bar, his toes secure upon a rough 
jutting of the wall. 

“ Siss! ” he whistled softly, at the same 
time striking against the stone with the flat 
of his right hand. 

Almost at once the king appeared, as if 
he had been waiting. In fact, he showed 
no surprise, although his face shone with 
joy in the uncertain light. He had heard 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 317i 

the sound of the boy climbing and guessed 
that it was Richard. 

“ I have found you—at last! ” cried Rich¬ 
ard in a voice husky with triumph and love. 

I have found you, sire! ’’ 

The king stretched out his hand, and the 
young minstrel took it reverently, and, cling¬ 
ing to his hold, bent his head and kissed it. 

“ I looked for you, boy,” said the Lion- 
Hearted, and his simple words of faith 
stirred Richard with pride and joy. 

“You must escape, sire! ” 

“ No, Richard. Here we can do little. 
There is no time, boy, to plot. My life is 
safe. You should have gone this night after 
seeing me. Yet to see you close and to hear 
your voice gives me greater joy than I have 
ever known. You have loved me as man to 
man.” 

“ Yes! ” breathed the minstrel. 

“ Let not your love and zeal undo us,” 
said the king, quickly. “ Get thee down, 
carefully, and make the best of speed for 
England. Friends will be on the way to 


318 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


seek me. Publish my whereabouts to every 
friendly ear. Thus you can now best serve 
me. They will ask a ransom, boy; it must 
be met,—and it will be heavy. I give you 
this ring,”—^he took a signet-ring from his 
hand and slipped it upon a finger of Rich¬ 
ard’s free hand,—“ and you shall wear it in 
England as my authority to do all deeds 
proper for the raising of the money.” 
Rapidly now the king told Richard what he 
must do in England to thwart his brother 
John and the French king, and to stamp 
out internal troubles. It was at this time 
that Richard Coeur de Lion blessed his lucky 
star that for long he had minded to raise his 
minstrel to great power, and, with that in 
mind, had given him numberless instructions 
on their return from Acre. “ Now go, boy,” 
he commanded at length, “ and God’s bless¬ 
ing upon you. You have served your king 
as no other man ever served king before. 
You have saved Richard and England! 
Godspeed you!” He spoke in a broken 
voice, devoutly grateful for the minstrel’s 



THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


319 


coming, and thankful to the boy who in love 
and loyalty had searched for him so faith¬ 
fully. Then, giving Richard his hand once 
more, he withdrew from the window, that 
neither should make delay by further word. 

With one last look into the blackness of 
the tower-cell,—seeing nothing,—and with 
one last unfearing stare at the world so far 
below him, Richard wiped his misty eyes, 
and, exceedingly careful because he must live 
for England and the king, began to descend. 
Slowly, very slowly, he went down, pausing 
once for a giddiness that almost overcame 
him, more for joy at the end of his search 
than for anything else. The way down 
seemed endless and a hundred times more 
difficult than the ascent; but at last, with a 
gasp of infinite relief, he dropped lightly to 
solid earth and looked up at the towering 
wall, wondering if, after all, it were not a 
dream—it seemed so terrible a feat. 

When he turned and looked out toward 
the desolate little garden, a thrill of fear 
leaped through him like a spurt of flame, and 




320 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


he stood like stone, now cold with dread. 
Not ten feet distant stood a great figure clad 
partly in steel, its arms folded, a plumed hat 
low on the forehead. Richard gasped 
audibly, and at that the man threw up his 
head and dropped his arms from his mailed 
chest—the spy was the soldier, Gregory. 

“ You should be torn by the wheel, you 
English dog, you singer of ballads,” ex¬ 
claimed Gregory in a low tone of hate, 
“ except that I prefer to spit thee like a cur 
for the hand you laid on me.” 

Richard stood still motionless, the blood of 
anger beginning to warm him. He had 
thought the figure to be the baron of Dur- 
renstein, and he recognized Gregory with a 
vast relief. But fear Avas in him, because, 
if the revengeful soldier who had followed 
him and understood his mission should raise 
one shout, all would be lost. He would be 
killed, and England Avould suffer. 

Gregory, with a queer, hoarse laugh, 
whipped his great blade free, believing he 
had the minstrel at bay against the castle 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


321 


wall, unarmed, and unclad in steel. More 
than this, he did not believe the boy, stout as 
he was, could be much of a fighter. He ex¬ 
pected a very enjoyable moment now. 

Thinking hard, Richard backed against 
the wall in the deep shadow, and with his left 
hand found Goodwill where he had placed 
it. Would Gregory fight when he saw the 
weapon, or would he shout for help? This 
was the great question. Then he realized 
that even if Gregory should raise his voice, it 
would do no harm—provided he killed him 
before any one came. Fortunately he had 
told the steward about Gregory, and if the 
spy were put away quickly, the boy could 
state that they had come to this spot to settle 
their differences. With this thought in 
mind, giving him instant ease and vanquish¬ 
ing his dread, he advanced from the wall into 
the open, drawing Goodwill as he went. 

“ You shall have from me, Gregory,” he 
said, quietly, “ what you should have had at 
first,—cold steel,—though I had scorned to 
treat you to my Goodwill.” 



322 


THE YOUNG CEUSADER 


“ Ha! ” exclaimed Gregory in surprise as 
he saw the minstrers blade glinting. Why 
had he not looked for that sword and thrown 
it away? It was too late. He had courage 
of a sort, however, and, although he had 
come to slay a defenseless enemy, he stood 
his ground. The advantage, anyway, was 
his, or so he believed, for he wore a steel coat 
and the other was without armor of any 
kind. 

Without a word they crossed their blades, 
the Austrian revengeful, the Devon lad 
grimly determined. Their swords clashed 
and rang, and Richard, knowing time to be 
important, pushed the other hard and soon 
was in a position to bar his egress from the 
gardens. It was apparent even in a few 
moments that the minstrel was wholly master 
of the man-at-arms, and Gregory, seeing 
this, fought furiously, and at length lifted 
his voice in a great shout. 

Upon the instant that he cried out, Rich¬ 
ard, wild with rage, but wary, pressed in and 
rained his blows like lightning strokes. Few 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


323 


men, even the greatest of fighters of his time, 
could stand before the Devon lord—and 
Gregory was as a boy with a stick. Rich¬ 
ard pushed him in toward the wall, and, 
with a Titan backward sweep, dashed his 
sword from him, and, without compunction, 
raised Goodwill on high and drove it down 
through the spy, through skull, through 
shoulder, and through mesh of steel. 
Gregory uttered no second shout. 

Breathing hard, and thankful beyond 
words, Richard drew back from the man who 
could now give no secret—nor any word nor 
sound, then or ever. As he stepped away, 
a half score of the mpn-at-arms came run¬ 
ning into the gardens with lights and 
surrounded the victorious minstrel and the 
dead man. 

Richard calmly told his tale, that Gregory 
and he had met to settle their score thus; and 
the captain of the watch shrugged his 
shoulders and seemed rather pleased than 
otherwise. Gregory had not been liked by 
his companions, and he was, also, a new- 


324 


THE YOUNG CKUSADEE 


comer, so the men bore Richard no ill will 
and merely congratulated him on his luck in 
beating so strong a fighter. In the castle 
on the following morning the steward ex¬ 
pressed his gratification at what had oc¬ 
curred, and was honestly grieved when Rich¬ 
ard declared his intention of journeying on 
in quest of new scenes. 

There was no objection raised to his going, 
although the baron himself, who gave him a 
parting gift of gold, was sorry to see him 
leave, and plainly said that he had not half 
worn out his welcome. The grim old baron 
went further than his gift of gold in the end; 
he gave the minstrel a good horse, and even 
allowed the steward, upon that worthy’s re¬ 
quest, to ride to the end of Durrenstein with 
him. 

Richard was glad when he turned a curve 
in the road at last and lost sight of the jolly 
steward. He rode on rapidly then, hav¬ 
ing in his heart hut the desire to find friends 
from England and to press on toward 
home. 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


325 


On the third day from Durrenstein he 
overtook two English churchmen, Long- 
champ and his secretary, whom he instantly 
recogmized when he came abreast, having met 
Longchamp in London. He disclosed his 
own identity at once, and told his wonderful 
news to the two prelates, who were set out 
to find the king at the queen mother’s orders. 

The three slipped from their horses in the 
road, and on their knees offered up thanks. 

It was disquieting news the messengers 
were bringing from England. It had been 
known for a long time that Richard was 
held captive by Henry VI, and when the 
news of his captivity first came, John, the 
king’s brother, had entered into agreement 
with Philip of France, doing homage for all 
Richard’s continental dominions, although 
Normandy had refused to accept him as lord 
while Richard lived. In England he had 
tried to usurp his brother’s throne, but was 
disputed, and civil war had reigned for a 
time, during which a French fleet sent to 
help John was defeated by Archbishop 


326 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


Walter. A truce was at length declared to 
await events, and to see whether Richard was 
to return alive. 

The three excited Englishmen tarried but 
a short time in the road, then, after exchang¬ 
ing news, they parted, the messengers rid- 
ing joyfully toward Durrenstein, Richard 
toward England to serve the king as 
directed. 

Through many a danger the young min¬ 
strel passed, but one spring day he leaped 
ashore upon the strand of England,—home, 
—messenger of the lion-hearted king and 
his trusted lieutenant to act in all that was 
necessary for the crown. 


CHAPTER XVI 


T he ransom of Richard Coeur de 
Lion was finally set at one hundred 
thousand marks, and Hubert 
Walter, who had visited the captive king, 
returned to England with letters to Queen 
Eleanor and to the church people requesting 
that the money be collected as soon as pos¬ 
sible. Richard knew well that during this 
time the emperor, to whom the Duke of 
Austria had yielded him, was playing false 
and receiving embassies from both John and 
King Philip, who would undoubtedly pay 
large sums to have him held in Germany 
indefinitely. 

Under feudal law the ransom should fall 
upon the knights of the kingdom, but, be¬ 
cause this vast sum could not by any means 

be secured from them, a tax of “ a fourth 

327 


328 


THE YOUNG CEUSADEK 


part of the revenue and of the movable goods 
of every man, whether layman or clerk ’’ was 
levied, and, moreover, cheerfully paid. 
Even then the amount of the ransom was not 
forthcoming, so the church was required to 
give extra contributions for the king, who 
had lost his liberty through zeal for its cause. 
“ Prelates’ crosses, silver hinges from the 
coffins of the saints, silver in all forms, was 
heaped up in London, and yet there was not 
enough.” 

But it was evident, however, that soon the 
ransom would be raised, and it was then that 
Philip of France, in fear, sent John this 
message—“Beware! The devil is loose 
again! ” 

Meanwhile Richard was brought before 
the diet in Germany as a state prisoner, 
meeting the charges against him with force 
and simple dignity. 

“ I am,” said he, “ bom in a rank which 
recognizes no superior but God, to whom 
alone I am responsible for my actions; but 
they are so pure and honorable that I volun- 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


329 


tarily and cheerfully render a full account of 
them to the whole world. The treaties I have 
concluded with the King of Sicily contain no 
infraction of the law of nations. I do not 
understand how I can be reproached for the 
conquest of Cyprus. I avenged my own in¬ 
juries and those of the human race in punish¬ 
ing a tyrant and dethroning a usurper; and, 
by bestowing my conquest on a prince 
worthy of the throne, I have shown that I 
was not prompted by avarice or ambition; so 
much so that the Emperor of Constanti¬ 
nople, who alone has any right to complain, 
has been wholly silent on the subject. In 
reference to the Duke of Austria, he ought 
to have avenged the insult on the spot, or 
long since to have forgotten it; moreover, my 
detention and captivity by his orders should 
have satisfied his revenge. I need not jus¬ 
tify myself against the crime of having 
caused the death of the Marquis of Mont- 
ferrat; he himself exonerated me from that 
foul charge, and, had I my freedom, who 
would dare to accuse me of deliberate mur- 


330 THE YOUNG CRUSADER 

der? My pretended correspondence witH 
Saladin is equally unfounded; my battles and 
victories alone disprove the false assertion; 
and if I did not drive the Saracen prince 
from Jerusalem, blame not me, but blame the 
King of France, the Duke of Burgundy, the 
Duke of Austria himself, all of whom de¬ 
serted the cause and left me almost single- 
lianded to war against the infidel. 

“It is said I was corrupted by presents 
from the Sultan, and that I joined the cru¬ 
sade from the love of money; but did I not 
give away all the wealth I seized on captur¬ 
ing the Bagdad caravan, and what have I 
reserved out of all my conquests? Nothing 
but the ring I wear on my finger. Have 
compassion on a monarch who has experi¬ 
enced such unworthy treatment, and put 
more faith in my actions than in the calum¬ 
nies of my deadly foes.” 

As for Richard of Devon, immediately 
upon his landing in England he hastened to 
London and carried his message to Eleanor, 
the queen mother, who, almost frantic at the 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 


331 


situation of her beloved son, was urging the 
Pope to raise his voice on behalf of the cap¬ 
tive king. 

Richard found himself at once in a sea of 
work, and he busied himself almost every 
hour in his efforts to preserve peace and 
order and to secure 'money toward the ran¬ 
som of his lord. 

Hugh Willock had long before reached 
England, and, as Richard had desired, had 
taken up his abode in his young friend’s 
castle. When he received news of Rich¬ 
ard’s presence in London, he rode at once 
to the city with Peter, and joyfully clasped 
the boy in his strong arms, tears running 
down his scarred, bronzed visage. 

Upon payment of part of the ransom and 
the delivery of hostages in Germany for the 
remainder, Richard of the Lion Heart was 
set free, having been a prisoner exactly 
thirteen months, and, evading his enemies, 
who thought to seize him as he left Germany, 
landed on his island kingdom, with Queen 
Eleanor, Longchamp, the chancellor, the 


332 THE YOUNG CKUSADER 

Archbishop of Rouen, and Richard of 
Devon. 

The king’s first act upon reaching Eng¬ 
land was to give thanks for his release at the 
shrine of St. Thomas of Canterbury; and 
then he marched at once against the rebels 
of his kingdom and soon regained his own. 
On the seventeenth of April, four years after 
leaving England, he was recrowned in Win¬ 
chester. 

He raised Richard of Devon high in his 
court, making him his principal minister, and 
loved him dearly. < 

“You have served me, Richard,” he said, 
“ even as one man to another, and you have 
rendered unto England and your king a 
service I vow will never be forgotten. You 
are a noble warrior and a good man. What 
further can I do as king or man to make 
glad your heart? ” 

“Ah, sire,” returned Richard with great 
emotion, “ you have covered me with honor 
in the land. And yet there is one boon I 
would ask now.” 


THE YOllNa CRUSADER 


333 


“ It is granted,” said the great king, smil¬ 
ing. “ What is this one thing more you 
would have? More land? A greater title? 
More money? ” 

“ I ask Your Majesty to restore to the 
crown’s favor the friend of my father, and 
my neighbor. Sir Hubert Grant.” 

For a moment the king was silent; his face 
grew stern, and his brow lowered. 

In a few words his beloved minstrel told 
of Sir Hubert’s misfortunes and of the in¬ 
famous plot carried against him by the brave 
but evil Mercado. 

The king still remained silent when the 
young lord of Devon ceased. He loved the 
loyal friend who had served him so zealously, 
but he truly believed Hubert a rebel and 
one of the lords who had held back taxes. 
He had once judged against him, and he 
was slow to reverse his decision, even for 
Richard. And yet he was not without 
magnanimity. When he had regained Eng¬ 
land and crushed out civil war, he had been 
merciful for his day; and he had been more 


334 


THE YOUNG CKUSADER 


than generous in settlement with his brother, 
John, who had plotted against his crown, his 
liberty, and even his life. 

“ Is there nothing else you desire rather 
than this, Sir Richard? ’’ he asked at length, 
almost pleadingly. 

“ Nay, sire. This is in my heart—^has 
been in it since I first sang for you in Dart¬ 
mouth. And it is, in truth. Your Majesty, 
an act of kingly justice, for I have made sure 
of Mercado’s villainy.” He laid before him 
immediately indisputable proofs, which he 
had gathered for this hour. The king could 
not gainsay them. 

“You have often spoken boldly to me of 
kingly duty and honor, boy!” exclaimed 
Richard, sharply, and then suddenly he 
laughed. “ And made me none the worse 
king or man,” he added, dryly. “ Well—it 
shall be even as you wish, Richard. I think 
he has been wronged; I cannot now doubt. 
You may take our pardon to Sir Hubert 
when you ride to Devon.” 

“ I thank thee, sire! ” cried Richard with 


THE YOUNG CRUSADER 335 

a full heart, dropping upon his knee and kiss¬ 
ing the great king’s outstretched hand. 

Not many days after this, young Richard 
of Devon, with his friend Hugh Willock 
and happy Peter, now a freeman, rode home 
to Darby. On the way he sought out and 
found Sir Hubert in the hills and gave him 
his full pardon, and at this time met his 
remaining daughter—as fair a flower as 
bloomed in all England. 

Richard, now a great lord of the kingdom, 
did not forget to reward properly the stout 
Darby men who had served him so well under 
the scorching sun of Palestine; and he did 
not forget to send Franz, the kind landlord 
of Vienna, a token of his remembrance. 

Hugh Willock had a post in Darby under 
his friend, Richard of Darby, and he grew 
rich honestly. As long as Richard wielded 
a sword, Hugh went with him, and in the 
end died peacefully at home among the 
Devon hills, served to the last by Hazri, the 
mute Saracen. 

Richard served Richard Coeur de Lion 


336 THE YOUNG CKUSADEE 

till the king’s death at the siege of Chains, 
and thereafter retired to Darby, where, by 
Sir Hubert’s daughter, he left a line of fight¬ 
ing men who have served England for almost 
a thousand years. 

Very often during his life—though he 
never spoke of it to any man, not even to 
Willock—he thought of the true prophecy 
made by the soothsayer of Dartmouth when 
he started as a boy on his first war: “ You 
shall render unto England’s present king a 
service men shall tell a thousand years.” He 
could not know how far his name and fame 
would come down through the centuries; but 
when he died, an old man, full of honor, he 
knew that, whatever men might remember, 
he had served both God and king honestly, 

whole-heartedly, and unswervingly, as best 
he could. 


THE END 










































































